


Lost and Found

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fellowship of the Ring, For some of the story elements to make sense, Post-War of the Ring, because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir or "What, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2006-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Arwen stood by the window of her room, looking out at the fair land that unfolded before her as Arien arose. Ithilien looked lovely at this time of year, for it was finally spring and now great patches of flowers and grass covered the ground. She took in a deep breath to smell the fragrance of the awakening nature and smiled. Ithilien reminded her of Rivendell in many ways, unlike Gondor. Not that she felt unhappy in her new home, far from that. How could she be unhappy when she was by the side of the man she had loved for so many years, after waiting patiently till he had finally taken up his position as the King of Men? Anyway, Legolas had assured her that the trees his people had planted in Minas Tirith would grow soon enough.

A knock at the door cut off her musings. "Come in!"

The door was opened and a servant girl entered, bowing courteously. 

"My lady? Lord Faramir is expecting you at the great hall."

"Tell him I will join him shortly," the queen said, inclining her own head cordially, thus dismissing the girl. As the latter curtsied and went out of the room, Arwen remained by the window for a while longer, still gazing over the horizon; until, putting her mind into it, she placed the royal circlet on her head and walked out, too.

\--------------------

Lord Faramir was sitting thoughtfully in the great hall when Arwen found him. At her appearance, the Prince of Ithilien swiftly arose to bow his head.

" _Suilad, rhín nín_ ," he said. " _Hodannech mae?_ " *

Arwen inclined her head in cordial greeting as well and answered with a small smile: "I did, thank you."

The prince smiled also, with a tinge of embarrassment. "Forgive me, my lady. I had forgotten your wish for us to speak in the Common Tongue."

"No harm done, my lord Faramir," the Elven Lady assured him. "I simply believe that, as Queen of Gondor, I should speak the language of its citizens."

The Prince of Ithilien nodded approvingly. Lady Arwen proved fair not only in face but in words as well.

"And you, Lord Faramir? How do you fare this morning?"

"Quite well, I thank you," said the Man.

"And your wife, Lady Éowyn?"

"She is fine as well, though I believe there are times when she misses her home in Rohan."

"I understand the feeling. There are times that I, too, miss my home; but I am certain that, with time, she will start to enjoy living in Emyn Arnen. The place has become beautiful."

"It gladdens my heart that you approve, my lady. The Dwarves had put forth all their skill with the rock to make this fortress the best it could be."

"Indeed. The people who came to settle here from Minas Tirith seem to believe so," noted the queen. Indeed, ever since the fortress in Ithilien was built, an important number of citizens settled in the fair realm as well. That was one of the reasons that the royal couple of Gondor and Arnor decided a visit was necessary: to make sure everything was in working order in the colony. It was true that this was more of a typicality, considering both Arwen and Aragorn had absolute faith in Faramir's ruling skills; on the other hand, it was also a good opportunity to renew the firm bonds of alliance and friendship that connected the former Steward and the King. Hence why it was Arwen that made that visit rather than any other representative.

"It is unfortunate that Lord Elessar did not accompany you as well," noted the Man.

Arwen shook her head solemnly. "I fear Aragorn has to look to the preparations for the oncoming feasts to celebrate the defeat of Sauron. And I should soon be there as well to assist him."

"I understand," said Faramir. "When do you intend to leave?"

"Tomorrow, at the first light Arien casts on the world. And you? When will you and Éowyn honour us with your presence?"

"The day before the festivities begin. I will leave Dûrinas in my stead," answered the prince. "The advisor has proven his worth at replacing me when necessary more than once and it will be good for both Éowyn and me to ride to Minas Tirith. If anything, she will be more than glad to see her brother; whereas I will be happy to see Mithrandír and the Halflings."

"As will they, I am certain," Arwen said, laughing a bit. "I, however, will welcome most the arrival of my own family. It has been almost two years since I have last seen them."

"To one of the Firstborn, this must seem like only a day," observed Faramir.

"Yet the heartache in parting is just as strong to us as it is to the Secondborn," replied the Elven lady rather sadly.

It was then that a servant appeared and bowed his head in greeting.

"Begging your pardon, my lord. Captain Damrod enquires if you will be able to inspect the troops today."

Faramir frowned. "I was under the impression that Captain Beregond would do it."

"I am afraid, my lord, Captain Beregond has already left for his patrol. Captain Damrod said that he set off earlier than usually today." 

"Oh, that is right!" exclaimed Faramir, his face lighting up in remembrance. "Then tell Captain Damrod to get his men ready, I will come shortly."

The servant bowed and walked out to see to his errand. As soon as he had vanished from sight, Faramir turned to face Arwen.

"I fear I am needed elsewhere, my lady," he said apologetically.

"Do not fret, my lord Faramir, I am aware of the duties a prince has," said the Elven lady kindly. "Besides, it will be my opportunity to visit the gardens within the fortress."

"It is well. Perhaps you will find Éowyn there as well. That is her usual haunt at about this hour."

"It will be a delight to be at her company," replied Arwen with a slight smile.

"I believe she will think so, too. She has not made many acquaintances just yet," noted the prince. "And now we should part. I hope you will join me and Éowyn afterwards, at dinner?"

"Of course," said the Elven-woman, brightly. "Till then, my lord Faramir," she added, bowing her head courteously.

"Till then, my queen," replied the prince, bowing also; and, with no other word, he walked out.

\----------------------

Arwen never regretted her decision to walk in the gardens, for their beauty was such that she marvelled at it and her heart was glad. She wished now, more than ever, that Aragorn were with her. He would look at the blooming nature that now surrounded her and share her contentment.

_There will be other chances, I suppose_ , she thought. _Now all I know is that I wish to return to you, my love_. It was a wonder how a single day, a mere blink of an eye for a former immortal being, could trudge on and give the impression that time was at a standstill! She smiled a bit, considering the thought rather ironic.

Suddenly, Arwen's sharp sense of hearing picked up a sound that made her stop in her tracks. Pricking up her ears, she was intrigued to discover it was a woman's voice, reciting some words. Understanding who it could be and feeling her curiosity growing, the Elven lady walked at the direction she heard Éowyn's voice.

The fair woman was indeed in the gardens as her husband said she would. Yet she was pacing nervously up and down and holding a rather thick book, which she read fervently.

" _Kingsfoil_ – also known as _athelas_ in the noble tongue and _asëa aranion_ in the high Elven-tongue: a small plant with white petals that gives out a soothing fragrance when bruised. Used rarely as it is not known to have any beneficial medical properties. Grows amid rocks and colonies of old. Once gathered it should be kept in a dry place…"

Éowyn instantly cut off her reading and sat on the ground, a dejected look in her face. 

"If it has no beneficiary properties, what is the purpose of learning about it?" she exclaimed.

"Well, for one thing, it does have medical properties – wondrous ones in fact. But only in the hands of a king."

Éowyn instantly lifted her gaze; then quickly stood up to bow.

"Forgive me, my queen. I did not see you," she said humbly. "Have you been here long?"

"No, be at ease," Arwen assured her, smiling. "I just could not help overhearing your studying of the medicinal herbs."

Éowyn averted her gaze and sighed sadly. "I may be studying it, but I am far from learning anything."

"Why would you wish such a thing, though?" asked Elven-woman curiously. "You are a shieldmaiden, taught in the ways of war."

"Taught in the ways of war, yes; but a shieldmaiden no more," corrected Éowyn, shaking her head. "I promised Faramir I would put aside the sword and become a healer, taking care of every growing thing."

"Has he asked such a thing from you?"

"No," admitted the fair lady. "But I will not have people saying that their lord decided to wed a wild thing from the North either."

Arwen smiled a bit and she stood by Éowyn, noting the fire burning in the mortal woman's eyes. The blonde clearly wanted to prove to the others that she was worthy of her husband's choice. 

"Perhaps I could offer my assistance?" asked Undómiel. "My father is a healer and he taught me the art."

Éowyn's face beamed at once. "You would do that for me, my queen?"

"Of course," said Arwen with a smile. "I will even teach you a couple of things that I am certain you will not find in the books," she added mischievously.

Éowyn smiled broadly and bowed, touched by the Elven-woman's offer. "I thank you, my lady."

Evenstar, however, cupped the blonde's chin, prodding her thus to look up at her. "A simple 'Arwen' will suffice. Our husbands are already connected with bonds of friendship; we should try the same thing."

Éowyn's cheeks reddened in a rare blush. "As you wish… Arwen."

"Good," said the Firstborn, pleased. "Then let us be on our way. No, you do not need the book! I always believed that the best way to learn about herbs is to see them on their natural environment. I passed by some roses a little while ago, so I suggest we start from there. By the way," she added, her bright eyes tinkling even more, "did you know that the petals of a rose are edible?"

Smiling at the Elven-woman's eagerness to teach, Éowyn followed Arwen in the gardens, the book tucked under her arm and forgotten. This would prove a most interesting day.

\---------------------

Night started settling swiftly. After finishing with his duties for the day, Faramir now was standing by the courtyard, waiting for Beregond to return from his patrol. The sound of laughter made him turn and he saw Éowyn with Lady Arwen, conversing mirthfully and holding some plants within pieces of cloth.

Éowyn was the first to see Faramir and she greeted him with a loving kiss. Though caught by surprise at first, Faramir answered the kiss with the same love and regretted when he had to break that spell to greet Arwen.

"I trust you enjoyed the walk in the gardens?" he asked.

"Indeed, I have, Lord Faramir," answered Undómiel with a smile.

"We both did," Éowyn jumped into the conversation, smiling even broadly.

"That is good to hear," said Faramir, happy to see his wife in such high spirits.

"I helped her with the study of herb lore," offered Arwen when she noticed Faramir's mild puzzlement. "And she is quite a bright student, I may add."

The Prince of Ithilien bowed at this. "Thank you, my queen. It was quite thoughtful of you." Turning to Éowyn, he caressed her cheek and looked at the herbs she was holding. "I cannot wait to see what have you learned." 

"I will show you once we retire to our chambers," said Éowyn with a tinge of pride. At that moment, her eyes drifted at the starry sky above and noticed something wrong. "Has not the patrol returned yet?"

"No," said the prince. "A thing most odd, since Beregond is never late."

"Let us hope they did not come across any danger," said Arwen with concern. 

A neigh echoing from outside the walls put all three at ease. The great doors opened, and a group of a dozen horsemen came in, led by Beregond. After they had all dismounted, Beregond walked up to Faramir, Éowyn and Arwen to greet them. Faramir clasped both hands on the captain's shoulders, not able to hide his relief.

"It was high time you arrived!" he said in a slightly reproachful tone.

"I know and I am sorry, my friend; something came up though," replied Beregond solemnly. He leant closer to Faramir. " _Hon cennim ad._ "**

" _Man?!_ " exclaimed the prince softly, astounded. " _Mas?_ "***

" _Ú-sí. Trenarathon i narn ned lû thent_ ,"**** answered Beregond.

"All right," agreed Faramir. "Go refresh yourself, you know where I will be."

Beregond nodded his understanding and went up to his rooms.

"Is something amiss?" asked then Arwen, wondering at the men's exchange of Elven words, and also the caution with which they spoke. If their intention was not to be understood by the people around him, it failed in the case of Arwen; yet she still couldn't make neither head nor tail of what they were talking about. 

"Hopefully no," answered Faramir. "I think it will be best if we retire to the great hall." And at that Faramir went inside, followed by Arwen and Éowyn. As they were walking, Arwen heard the fair woman murmuring softly.

"I really do not like it when they do that."

"What?" asked the queen.

Éowyn leaned closer. "Faramir and Beregond have been friends from childhood and they made it a habit to speak in the Elven-tongue whenever they want to discuss something without being understood by others. I do not mind them wishing to keep something between them, but it can prove tiresome."

"Well, to appease your curiosity," said Arwen, "Beregond said that they saw somebody, but when Faramir asked where, the Captain answered he will tell him in a short while."

That had Éowyn thinking hard. "I wonder who they were talking about."

"I think we shall find out soon."

The time came sooner than they believed. Both women and Faramir had settled for dinner at the Great Hall, when Beregond came into the room and, after bowing courteously, joined them. Arwen noticed the thoughtfulness in the captain's eyes as he ate in silence and again her curiosity was piqued. 

"Well, Beregond?" finally asked Faramir as dinner was coming to its end, "Where did you see our elusive 'friend'?"

"At noon, on our way back to Emyn Arnen. The men and I were resting our bodies from the many hours of riding, when I saw him from afar amid some trees. I thought he was a bear or something of the like before I realised who it could be, but when I tried to take a second, better look, he was gone. I told all the men to search the area, and yet no one caught sight of him again. It was as though he had vanished."

"Please, forgive my interruption," said then Arwen, feeling more confused than ever. "Not all of us know the tale from the beginning."

"Of course, forgive me, my queen. In my eagerness I forgot myself," said Faramir. He nodded to Beregond, and the First Captain understood what it was asked of him.

"He was first seen three months ago," he said. "Nobody can tell if he came to this part of the world recently or if he has been here all his life and only now we chanced to see him for the first time. He is a Man-like creature, darkly clothed and quite shy of anyone travelling close by: all the people who came across him in one time or other – myself including – were able to get but a glimpse of him before he would disappear in the shadows of the forest."

"Why was Minas Tirith not informed of this?" asked Arwen, though what she really meant was: "Why was this kept secret?"

"He is only one, and we know nothing about him for that matter," answered Faramir with a shrug. "I did not want to worry anyone else without gaining any more information about him first. I did not even say a word to the people of Emyn Arnen, not wishing to arouse any unfounded panic."

"He could still prove a danger, however," said then Éowyn. "To me it seems that he avoids being seen by the patrols because he knows he does not stand a chance against a large number of armed people."

"I would have agreed with you, my lady, but for one thing," replied Beregond. "The first to have seen this phantom was a woman, collecting fruit in the forest. She was close enough to see a knife tied at his side with a cloth belt and realise that, had he put his mind into it, he could easily catch her and kill her. Yet all he did when he realised he was being observed was to leave."

"Perhaps he did not know she was alone and did not wish to take any risks?" suggested Arwen.

"Or he was caught by surprise and that unnerved him?" said Éowyn.

"Both theories are quite likely and I considered them myself. But there are a few facts that contradict them," replied the First Captain. "I talked to the woman, and she told me that one of the two things that surprised her was that, though he had his back on her and she didn't make a sound, he seemed to know she was there, because he didn't show any signs of surprise when he finally saw her."

"What was the other thing that surprised her?" asked Arwen, unable to hide her wonder.

"That she never felt threatened by his presence. Nor did the woodsman who saw him last week, nor I."

"Is that enough to prove to us that he is a friend, though?" asked Éowyn thoughtfully.

"No, but it is enough evidence that he is not a foe," noted Faramir, who had in the meantime signalled to the head servant to have the table cleared. "He merely wants to be left in peace, just like any other forest creature."

"And yet what will happen if he feels provoked?" asked Arwen.

The prince shook his head. "I know not, my Queen. That possibility has not become a probability for the present, that much I can say."

"What needs to happen till it becomes a probability?" said Éowyn. "People must be warned that they must be cautious when venturing out of the fortress."

"My love, though I share your fear, I have reasons to believe that, if the Creature had any intentions to kill, he would manage to do so in spite of any cautions taken. We have seen him three times, indeed. But who knows how many times _he_ has seen _us_ , and yet did nothing about it?" argued Faramir. "There is also the problem of what will happen if we do warn the citizens at this time. There will be those who are foolish enough to enter into the forest in order to hunt down the Creature and kill him – all for the single purpose of earning praise from everyone. And if they do kill him, nothing will come out of it, except that I will punish the miscreants for disregarding the warning. On the other hand…" the prince emphasized those words, "what will happen if they do _not_ succeed? Then the Creature will have every right to feel provoked and woe will befall to any unfortunate enough to walk through the woods."

"I understand now what is your worry," admitted Éowyn.

"As do I," seconded Arwen. "Captain Beregond, will you keep an eye on the Creature on your patrols?" 

"I will, my Queen," answered the captain, "and all my men will keep track of him the best we can. I cannot make any promises though, for he knows how to slip one's vigilance."

"As long as you try, it will be enough," Arwen assured him. 

Beregond bowed low politely; then turned to Faramir, his eyes saying all that he meant to say. 

The prince smiled in understanding.

"You can go. I am sure your brother will be waiting for you to catch up on tidings." Indeed, Iorlas was among the people that had escorted Arwen to Emyn Arnen and Faramir didn't fail to notice how glad were the two brothers to meet again.

"Thank you," said the other man with a small smile of his own and, after bidding both women goodnight, he walked out. 

Faramir arose from his seat, too.

"I believe we should retire as well," he said. "You have to start early tomorrow on your journey, my queen. Éowyn, will you walk with me to our chambers?"

"If it is all right with you, my love, I will see Lady Arwen to the guest rooms."

"No problem at all," answered Faramir with a smile. Kissing his wife lightly on the cheek, he added: "I will see you later on."

Answering with a kiss of her own, Éowyn took a lantern and beckoned Arwen to follow her, and thus the three went their ways.

"A most strange tale," commented Arwen while the two women still walked. "I do not know what to make of it."

"Indeed," agreed Éowyn. "And I cannot help but feel curious about the Creature. Where did he come from? For how long has he been living in the forests of Ithilien? But, above all else, what worries me is what his intentions might be."

"I am afraid I am not able to answer any of your questions," answered the Elven lady. "Yet I have lived long enough to tell you this: there are many creatures in this world and there are many more destined to enrich it when the time is ripe; and all of them, good or evil, have their purpose in this world and add to the glory of the Valar and Eru, the One."

"I see the wisdom in your words and your advice is fair," noted Éowyn with genuine admiration. "I will keep the words in both my mind and heart."

Arwen only smiled at this, feeling flattered. 

Just then, Éowyn stopped.

"We have arrived to your room," she said. "I bid you goodnight, Arwen, till our next meeting." She bowed slightly.

"Goodnight, Éowyn. I truly enjoyed your company today."

"So have I," answered the other woman, smiling back; then walked away.

Arwen entered into the room and, after changing into her night garments, she lay down and pulled the sheets over her. Sighing deeply, she turned and looked out the window at the stars shining on the dark sky. Although she had appeased Éowyn, Arwen couldn't help thinking of what she had learned at the dinner table and feel troubled by it. She had to admit that Faramir was right: there was nothing that could be done about the Creature except try and find more about him; nevertheless, she decided she should speak to Aragorn about this news upon her return. She wanted to hear his opinion on this matter.

With that last thought in her mind, the Elven-lady drifted to the land of dreams, the starlight bathing her and covering her slender form like a second, lighter blanket.

TBC…

**Footnotes** :

* _Suilad, rhín nín. Hodannech mae?_ : Greetings, my queen. Did you rest well? (Sindarin)

** _Hon cennim ad._ : We saw him again (Sindarin)

*** _Man?! Mas?_ : What? Where? (Sindarin)

**** _Ú-sí. Trenarathon i narn ned lû thent_ : Not here. I will tell the tale in a short while (Sindarin)


	2. Meeting Upon A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Arien hadn't yet started her journey in the sky when Arwen woke up. However, she was aware that she had to rise and prepare her things if she was to leave the time she intended. As soon as she changed to her travelling clothes, she opened the door and, after catching sight of the servant who always stood close by in case she needed anything, she bade him to inform her escort that they should be ready to set off soon enough. Then she started packing her belongings, a task that wouldn't take up too much of her time, since she didn't usually carry many things with her, especially not when her outing was not even two days' ride from Minas Tirith and lasted a mere two weeks.

A great rumbling sound made her turn and look outside the window. Grey clouds could be seen covering the sky and the Elven-woman sensed the delicate smell of humidity in the air. 

_Not the best of days to start a journey,_ she thought. Yet it wasn't that that mattered to her so much, since her ride would be a short one. For some unknown reason, an unsettling feeling that she didn't have the words to name had started gnawing in her heart ever since she had woken up. All she could tell was that the conversation she had with Faramir last night had left her with a far deeper impression than she had wanted to admit. Now a torturous thought and a threat had been growing in her mind, warning her that she should be wary on her journey. But was it a feeling she should take heed, or had she become merely uneasy because of what she had heard? She simply couldn't be sure anymore.

She shook her head out of such ominous musings. After all, what she should be thinking now was how much she missed Aragorn and how much she wanted to return to him as quickly as possible; and how glad she would be once back by his side and in his arms.

Ready at last and putting on her travelling cloak, she opened the door and walked out. To her pleasant surprise, she came across Faramir and Éowyn, who wished to say their parting greetings to Arwen when she would ride away, and so all three of them walked towards the courtyard.

\------------------

Arwen's escort was already in the courtyard, waiting for the queen to appear. The only two horses that were still without a rider on them were Arwen's, standing proud and erect nearby, and the commander's, who was now conversing with Beregond.

"It was good to see you again, Second Captain of the Citadel," remarked Beregond, uttering the title in a good-natured tease. "I missed you, and so did Bergil."

"It was good to see you too, my brother," answered Iorlas, placing his arm over his younger sibling's shoulders. "Minas Tirith simply is not the same with you away."

"Will you give the rest of the fellows my regards? Especially Maldir?"

"Of course! I will even meet Meneldor and Rían to make sure she gets her compliments for those sweet cakes she sent you," Iorlas assured him, laughing. "I declare, that woman your friend married thinks you are starving here!"

"She only means well," remarked Beregond.

"I know, I know," consented Iorlas, raising his hand in peace. Just then, Arwen's stallion neighed loudly. "That can only mean the Queen is coming. I should go."

Beregond nodded his understanding, but it was still difficult for him to say goodbye. Before Iorlas could react, he had grabbed his older brother in a tight embrace and held him close for many long moments. Startled, yet touched as well, Iorlas returned the embrace, realising how important this was to Beregond. After all, this was their first meeting in a long time and neither of them knew when they would be fortunate enough to see each other again.

"Stay safe."

"You too, little brother; though I know somebody who will make sure no harm will come to you," said Iorlas, winking and making Beregond smile; he knew of the strong friendship that the Prince of Ithilien and his brother shared.

"Captain Iorlas?" The voice of the servant made both captains turn. "They are waiting for you."

"Lead the way, my good man," said Iorlas and, after one last farewell to Beregond, he hurried towards his horse and mounted it. In a matter of moments, Arwen had also settled on her stallion; and the company set off with many blessings and kind words from the people of Emyn Arnen.

\--------------------------

Arwen and the soldiers had been riding for some time before it was decided that they should stop for a while. They let the horses rest and graze on some blades of grass nearby, while the riders stretched their legs and backs. One of the soldiers even discovered a small river nearby, so everyone was able to refresh himself.

While the men were starting a fire and brewing some stew for luncheon, Arwen found the opportunity to wash her face and hands as well. She had hardly finished drying herself however, when she discovered that she was being watched. There, in the reflection of the water, she could see the form of a man, kneeling by the bank. 

Arwen instantly lifted her head, but to her utter surprise and puzzlement, she saw no one. She opened her mouth to call to Iorlas, but then she caught sight of the water again. A gasp of astonishment escaped her lips at what she saw: locks of black hair, flowing by her at the whim of the current. She watched the strange vision frozen, trying to comprehend what was happening; then a gust of wind carried to her ears the sound of crying. 

The voice of the Captain plunged her back into reality.

"My Queen, the men are ready to set off again."

"Very well, I am coming," faltered Undómiel, forcing herself to straighten her thoughts.

Iorlas noticed how shaken Arwen was though.

"My Queen? Is something amiss?"

Arwen immediately shook her head no. "Go ahead, I will follow."

Iorlas nodded a bit in obedience and walked away, although he felt certain that something was indeed troubling the Queen of Gondor.

Meanwhile, Arwen looked back at the river to see everything was, in fact, unchanged but for one thing: the clouds had become far darker and lightning could even be seen in the distance now. The storm that she had expected was finally coming and it would prove a terrible one. There was no time to wonder at the vision; they should leave at once.

Arwen hurried to where her escort was waiting and swiftly climbed on her own horse. Upon giving the signal, the company left off once more in a fast gallop. No matter how fast the travellers rode though, they didn't manage to escape the terrible tempest: in less than a half hour, big drops of rain started pouring on them and their cloaks did little to keep them dry for long. Darkness surrounded them now and everyone tried hard to look beyond the torrent that seemed to whip them mercilessly. Booming thunders nearly deafened them, while it was only their mastery that kept their steeds on their course instead of bolting.

"It is as though the Valar's wrath broke out against us!" cried Iorlas over the neighs of his frightened horse.

"Yet we must move on!" answered Arwen, who was forging on beside him. "There is no cover nearby we can use!"

If Iorlas ever meant to answer, he never had the chance. A lightning bolt struck quite close to the company and though the riders protected their eyes on time, the horses were less fortunate. Blinded by the sudden flash of light, the poor creatures reared and neighed terrified and their masters could control them no more. It was only after much coaxing and calm talk that the steeds had regained part of their composure. 

Patting his mare's neck encouragingly, Iorlas turned to see how the rest of the troops fared and started calling out the soldiers' names.

"Here!" called back one by one the riders. 

But when Iorlas called for his queen, there was no answer.

"My Lady?" cried out the captain again, only to receive the crack of another thunder as answer. It was then that a new wave of lightning lighted the area and all the soldiers saw with their own eyes the horrible truth that they feared: the Queen of Gondor wasn't amongst them and she was nowhere else to be seen either.

\---------------------

Arwen tried to talk to her horse and make him stop, but it was of no use. The stallion was closest to where that fateful lightning struck and he was frightened out of his wits. Now he was running as fast as his legs could carry him in a state of panic, barely missing the trees and bushes that were standing on his way. Arwen couldn't tell for how long she had been riding like this, but she knew that she was taken away from the company and there was nothing she could do about it.

At that very moment, disaster came: betrayed by the rain-soaked ground, the poor beast lost his footing and fell down, neighing painfully. Arwen was thrown violently off the horse and she landed heavily on the ground, crying out her own pain as she hit her head hard against a tree stump. She tried to rise but she felt too dizzy and confused, while her stallion's constant neighs kept ringing in her ears, making her head feel even worse. 

Then the whinnies ceased altogether, something that sent a chill to Arwen's heart.

Turning slowly her head, she saw a dark form stooping over the stallion; but it wasn't that which changed her fright into dread and horror. Crimson liquid was now streaming out of the horse's neck, and in the black-clothed silhouette's hand was the weapon that had ended the steed's life: a small dagger, its thin and elegant blade glistening brightly despite the blood that stained it. It was also unlike any other dagger Arwen had seen in her life, for it was curved to the point that its shape resembled Ithil at his waxing and its handle was thick and made of iron. As she tried to figure out who could possibly wield such a weapon, Arwen remembered Faramir and Beregond's tale. Then she knew who was before her.

The Creature had by now arisen from the horse's side and had caught sight of Arwen. Walking cautiously, he now approached her, his dagger still at hand and his face hidden in the shadows. Lightning struck again and both adversaries were able to get a brief glimpse of each other's form for a single instant. 

Snapping into action, Arwen quickly arose as well and drew her own means of defence: her sword.

"Stay away!" she warned, mustering all her courage. To her misfortune however, the quick motion nauseated her and she felt faint again. Falling into a swoon, her hand dropped the sword and she felt herself falling. The last thing she registered before she plunged into the darkness of oblivion was that she never hit the ground as she had expected.

TBC…


	3. Aglarâd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I have never seen anyone of my kind in such bitterness and anger." _Nor in such a pitiable state_ , she added in her mind.

When Arwen regained her consciousness, she was surprised to feel warmth surrounding her and, upon opening her eyes, she wondered to find herself in the safety of a room. She tried to push herself into a sitting position, only to let out a small groan at the dizziness that got hold of her again.

"No! You must lie still!"

Arwen turned and saw a young girl rushing toward her and gently prodding her down. The Elven-woman complied and lied down once more, realising that it was the best thing to do to ease her nausea. Yet she still wanted an answer to the question that lingered in her mind.

"Where am I? How did I get here?"

"Daurir found you in the forest. He brought you here so your head-injury would be tended. We both did our best but we're not healers," said the woman. Her eyes locked on Arwen's leaf-shaped ears. "Still, Daurir said there is no need for worry – your kind recovers quickly."

Arwen couldn't help but smile at the last comment. "Yes, it does," she answered, her fingers encountering the pieces of cloth that were tied around her head. Then she caught sight of the girl again.

The Firstborn didn't show it, but she felt intrigued by the young woman who tended her, for her appearance was quite strange. Her small, lithe form and round face made her seem like a girl only a breath away from her coming of age. Sleek, jet-black hair fell behind her back while her complexion had a most unusual hue: it was yellowish, but not because of poor health, as Arwen had witnessed on patients her father tended; her arms, also small and delicate, bore braces, which were decorated with engraved letters that Arwen had never seen before. What struck to the Elven-woman the most, however, was the girl's eyes: they were black and almond-shaped, and the great sadness reflected through them revealed how aged the girl was truly in spirit.

"Daurir also said that he is sorry he had to kill your horse, but it couldn't be helped," she heard the girl's voice say at that moment, cutting her off her train of thought. "Two of its legs were broken and it was suffering too much already."

Arwen's eyes widened when she registered those words, because until then she had believed that Daurir was simply the name of the young woman's husband. Now, however, she realised how wrong she was and whom the girl was actually talking about.

"You know the Creature?" she faltered, stunned.

The girl stared at the Elven-woman for some moments in confusion; then laughed, even though Arwen noticed a sad ring in that mirth.

"I know he has many names, this is the first time I hear this one though," said the young mortal. "Is that how they came to call him in this part of the world?" 

"Yes," answered the queen, sitting up once more, this time cautiously. "From which part of the world he has gotten the name of Daurir?" Though Arwen had recognised the name as foreign, the language was unknown to her.

"From the same parts I have gotten my own," answered the girl. "Rhûn is the region called and Aglarâd I was named by the same people that named him."

Arwen regarded Aglarâd, her words clearly filling her with awe. "I have heard of that realm, where the stars are strange," she finally said, "though this is the first time that I have met someone from there."

Aglarâd shook her head at this. "We indeed come from there, but neither of us ever belonged there and that is why we left. We arrived in these woods after much toil and grief."

"And whose is this house?" asked then Arwen, looking around the room, despite the fact that there wasn't much to see: it was only a small room and scarcely furnished.

"It belongs to the people who welcomed me here in exchange for my services," answered Aglarâd. "The couple is quite old and they needed somebody to tend to them."

"But only you," noted the Elven-woman. "They know not of Daurir, then?"

The girl nodded. "And he would not wish it otherwise."

The Firstborn felt more perplexed than ever now.

"Who would wish to live in the forest alone, forsaking all?"

"Someone who was forsaken by all," answered Aglarâd simply.

Arwen was hardly satisfied with that answer, but before she had the opportunity to ask for any further explanations, an old woman's voice was heard, calling for the girl.

"I must leave," said Aglarâd, agitated. "My lady, the masters of the house don't know you are here, so, please, stay within my quarters and rest in the meantime. I will return as soon as I can." And with that, she walked out of the room, leaving Arwen alone with her thoughts.

The Elven-woman remained still for many long moments, pondering on the conversation she had with the girl. Arwen felt it was frustrating that, though she had finally found some answers concerning the Creature, she was now faced with even more questions: what did Daurir look like? She had quickly dismissed her first thought that he probably resembled Aglarâd in appearance. Despite the fact that her memories of her encounter with him were only a blur, she could recall clearly that his form was quite tall. On the other hand, she didn't have a good look on his face…

Then it was Aglarâd's words to be considered. If Daurir wasn't from Rhûn, what reasons did he have to venture there? And what reasons drove him and his so young companion away from that region? One question, however, tormented Arwen above all else: why did Daurir choose this lonely life and why did Aglarâd say about him that he was forsaken?

Sighing, Arwen rubbed her forehead as her headache was becoming unbearable once more. Feeling that she wouldn't be able to sort out her thoughts in her condition, she decided to follow Aglarâd's suggestion and rest. Her last thought, before sleep finally claimed the injured lady, was of Aragorn and if he would find out what happened to her. 

\------------------

Night had settled over the White City and the bustling sounds that could be heard all day were finally dying down. Most of the citizens had been working vigorously for the preparations of the celebrations that would take place in less than a week, and at the palace especially there was hardly any chance for rest. The king was expecting several quite honourable guests and everything had to be perfect for the occasion.

"Make sure that the servants are spread throughout the banquet hall," instructed Aragorn to his head servant, who was listening carefully. "I wish our guests to feel well tended."

"It will be done as you say, Sire."

"Good," said the king approvingly. "That will be all for the present, you may go."

The head servant bowed low and walked out, greeting courteously to both Elf and Dwarf who were now entering the room. Aragorn smiled upon seeing Legolas and Gimli and quickly went up to them and greet them, too.

"Welcome back, my friends! Did you take that walk around Minas Tirith?"

"We have," answered Legolas with a broad smile. "The trees have been flourishing quite well."

"And the stonework is still sturdy – though I had no doubts about that," added Gimli with a tinge of pride, for it was the Dwarves that had rebuilt the city after Sauron's fall. 

"I am glad to hear it," said Aragorn. "And I have already arranged that all of us will dine together, so I can hear more about any tidings you have to say."

That chance, however, never came to be. In that very moment the doors burst open and a soldier rushed in, followed by a couple of dismayed servants.

"Sire, we tried to stop him, but…" started one of them; yet the soldier proved faster, as he quickly knelt down and kissed the ring on Aragorn's hand. 

"Forgive me, my lord, but this could not wait. I rode hard for many miles, without giving me or my horse a moment of rest."

"Arise and speak," said Aragorn, exchanging a brief glance with Legolas and Gimli. All three knew that the soldier's upset state meant only ill news.

Though the soldier obeyed, he didn't dare look his lord in the eyes as he told his tale.

"I was with Captain Iorlas's men as the Queen's escort. We were riding back to Minas Tirith when a terrible storm broke out on our way. Then a lightning bolt struck amongst us, driving our horses out of control; and we lost sight of Lady Arwen: her horse had run off with her."

Silence reigned in the hall for many long moments as such news left everyone dumbfounded.

"You did not try to find her?" asked Aragorn, still feeling as though his heartbeat had come to a halt.

"We did. We found her horse lying dead in a clearing, both its front legs broken; yet it wasn't that that killed it: someone had slit its throat open. The Queen, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. This is all we discovered of her." The soldier handed to the king Arwen's royal circlet. 

Aragorn nodded slightly his understanding.

"Take some rest. I will gather some men and you will take me where Captain Iorlas and the others are." Then he turned to the servants that were still standing close by. "Summon the third company, and make sure that they all have torches with them." 

The servants bowed low and rushed out of the room, followed by the soldier. Aragorn, meanwhile, seemed to have frozen in his place, his gaze locked on his beloved's coronet. Still, both Elf and Dwarf watched their friend closely and they both saw how Aragorn's fingers gripped the head ornament tightly, his arms trembling. After exchanging a brief look, Legolas and Gimli approached the Man.

"We will find her and you will give it back to her," said Legolas, resting a hand on Elessar's shoulder.

Aragorn met Legolas's look with a jolt, as though he woke up from a nightmare.

"You said we?"

"Such a surprise makes me think that you actually did not expect that," noted Gimli with a broad grin. "We will not remain idle when you need every help you can get."

Aragorn stared incredulously first at the Dwarf, then at the Elf, for many moments; but soon his face brightened with a full-of-gratitude smile.

"Thank you, my friends."

"The Three Hunters shall set forth again," said Legolas, his eyes brightening. "I will tell someone to have Arod ready."

"I will come with you, so I can get our weapons from our quarters," declared Gimli. "We will wait for you in the courtyard, Aragorn."

"And I will join you shortly," said the Man. "As soon as I inform the men that will accompany us."

Thus everyone went to prepare their departure, not knowing what they would come across, but determined to find the Queen.

\-----------------

Arwen's eyes focused back to awareness as she was waking up once more. She stirred, relieved to realise that she wasn't feeling so light-headed anymore; then arose to a sitting position carefully. She was truly recovering, that much she understood, for her body was humming with life again. 

Even though it was dark in the room and Ithil was covered in clouds, Arwen was still able to see, her Elven eyesight always sharp. So, she was soon on her feet and heading for the door, hoping that she would be able to catch a glimpse of Aglarâd. After all, whether Arwen liked it or not, the girl was the only one she could turn to at this hour, if she wanted to find a way to return to Minas Tirith – and learn more about Daurir.

With that thought in mind, she reached for the door handle; but came to an abrupt stop when she heard Aglarâd speaking.

"She is better. Not fully recovered, but her strength returns. I left her sleeping." 

Understanding about whom Aglarâd was talking, Arwen pressed herself against the door, wishing to hear more and, more importantly, to find out to whom the girl was talking; the queen still recalled Aglarâd saying that the masters of this house didn't know of her presence.

"No, I didn't try to find out who she is. I thought it best to let her be for the present; she has been through enough hardships."

Arwen remained still in wonder, trying to understand what was going on. She heard no one else speaking, yet Aglarâd talked as though _answering_ to someone.

"She seems a noble woman though. Her clothing is of good quality and she has a regal air I haven't seen in anyone before."

Finally unable to help her curiosity, Arwen turned the handle, allowing herself a small smile when she saw that she wasn't locked inside; then opened the door just enough to have a peek in the other room. 

It was indeed Aglarâd, standing near the window of what appeared to be the kitchen, and she wasn't alone. Arwen could clearly see the form of a man sitting cross-legged by the fireplace, his back turned on her and the girl. The brightness of the flames didn't allow Arwen to see much of him; nevertheless the Elven-woman could still tell that he was tall with broad shoulders and had a strongly-built body frame; as for his hooded cloak, which the man still wore, it was torn and weather-beaten. But it was the same strange knife that had slain her horse in the name of pity, now neatly tied on the man's side, that revealed to her at whom she was looking.

"Daurir, you haven't eaten anything again," said Aglarâd at that moment, her sadness clearly audible. 

Indeed, beside the man there was a plate full of food that was barely touched. Daurir, however, merely shrugged, something that made the girl kneel next to him.

"You may not feel hungry, but you have to eat. Every time that you come here I see how much less strength there is left in you. Or do you think that I didn't notice how violently your limbs trembled in weariness after carrying that woman all this way?"

Daurir bowed his head and looked away, but Aglarâd was far from finished. She took hold of the man's hand, and gasped at once in shock.

"You're still so very cold! And you've been sitting by the fire for over an hour!" she exclaimed. "Please, stay here for the night. I don't want you to be out there, not on such a black and freezing night; I can't bear it!"

Daurir clasped Aglarâd by the shoulder, shaking his head emphatically, and pointed first Aglarâd's eyes, then at the door behind which Arwen was. 

At first, the queen was afraid that they had found out they were being overheard, but Aglarâd's next words assuaged her fears.

"I understand why you want me to look after her; but how can you ask of me not to be concerned about you?"

Another series of hand signals finally proved to Arwen that Daurir was, for some reason, deprived of his voice. With wonder the Elven-woman watched the cloaked figure speak his thoughts in such an extraordinary way and how well Aglarâd understood him. 

Suddenly, Aglarâd's grew wide.

"No!" she cried. "I mourned Torion's passing, I will not mourn yours too!"

Arwen didn't have the luxury to try and understand what Daurir could have possibly said to cause such an answer, for in that very moment the cloaked figure arose and walked slowly towards the door. Aglarâd swiftly arose as well and turned at his direction.

"Go with her! Join her folk and reclaim what was taken from you! Surely you can see this chance for a new life!"

With an abrupt turn, Daurir turned to Aglarâd and, grabbing her hand violently, he uncovered his face to finally reveal his features. 

Arwen bit her hand as not to gasp her surprise and fright. Daurir was no _Man_ : he was an Elf, perhaps even a comely one at that not long ago. Now, however, only his leaf-shaped ears proved to anyone his race. His raven-black hair was short, reaching only at the jaw line, his face was lean and sickly pale, his lips bloodless; whereas his eyes, which must have one time shone brilliantly with unburdened life, were now glistening with fatigue and the darkness of frosty indifference, making them seem almost black. And now that he was piercing Aglarâd with a look full of anger, he seemed far more terrible and threatening. 

But before Arwen had the chance to rush to the girl's aid, fearing for Aglarâd's safety, Daurir's grip loosened and his expression softened to sadness.

_What life?_ he mouthed at his young friend; then he retreated slowly towards the door that led outside, his eyes always locked on Aglarâd, and walked out. He never saw the girl falling on her knees, nor did he allow himself to hear her sobs as he disappeared in the black veil of the wilderness. 

Long did Aglarâd weep; until, feeling sympathy for the girl's distress, Arwen came out of her hiding place and knelt beside her. Before she had realised it, the queen even reached and held the mortal woman tightly in a soothing embrace. 

"You heard everything?" asked the girl amid her tears after many moments had passed.

"I heard enough," answered the Elven-woman truthfully. As her eyes locked on the door from where Daurir walked out, she couldn't help then but note: "I have never seen anyone of my kind in such bitterness and anger." _Nor in such a pitiable state_ , she added in her mind.

"If you knew, my lady, you wouldn't blame him," said Aglarâd with a sigh, wiping her tears and standing once more.

"You know of his tale, then?" asked Arwen, arising as well.

Aglarâd nodded. "For the most part anyway. But, my lady, if it is all right with you, I do not wish to tell you of it just yet. For it is a tale which reminds me of my own pain."

"Then speak of it whenever you feel comfortable about it," Arwen assured her with a small smile.

"Thank you." 

Just then, a cock crowed in the distance, making both women turn at the window. 

"I suggest we go have some rest, while we can," said Aglarâd. "You haven't fully recovered yet."

"Fair advice. We will not speak of such matters again for the present."

Aglarâd bowed in courtesy, offering in this way her thanks; then showed Arwen to her room before she also rested by the fireplace.

TBC…


	4. Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

When Arwen awoke again, the sun was already up. Stretching and gladdened to see that whatever discomfort there was left was now gone, she arose and headed again for the door. After listening intently till she made certain that she didn't hear anything that betrayed a human presence, she walked into the kitchen once again.

Just as Arwen had thought, no one was in the kitchen, though the fire was still burning ever strongly, a large pot with boiling water over it. The only thing that breathed in the room was a short, yet stocky grey dog, sleeping soundly on a rug until the Elven-woman came in. The dog merely opened its eyes, yet without seeming alarmed to see a stranger in the house it was guarding. It even half-closed its eyes dreamily when Arwen petted its head, appreciating the affection.

" _Istach ú-im coth_ ,"* murmured Arwen with a smile, fully aware that all kind animals had a natural trust in the Elven race. That also explained why the dog didn't even make a sound when Daurir had brought her here, to Aglarâd's care.

Letting the dog fall into its relaxed slumber again, Arwen then saw on the table a plate filled with fruit and a note beside it. Upon reading the note in her curiosity, she read the following words:

_"The breakfast is for you, my lady. Eat and then please return to the room. I will find you soon after the darkness falls to give you answers to all your questions."_

Arwen ate gladly, for as her health returned, so did her appetite. As she was still eating, she let her eyes run over the note again, looking at the letters more carefully this time.

Aglarâd – after all, only she could have written that note – apparently knew how to write clearly and correctly; nevertheless the writing was still shaken and uncertain. It was quite evident that it was very late in life that she learned to use the quill. Could it be that Daurir had taught her? That possibility didn't seem all that far-fetched, for the two certainly seemed quite close – at least, Aglarâd seemed attached to Daurir. 

It was then that Arwen remembered the other name the girl had mentioned: Torion. What was this person's connection with the two and how had he come to his end? For dead he must be if Aglarâd's words about mourning his passing had to make any sense.

The light sound of the knife as it hit the bottom of the now empty plate cut her off her musings and, without realizing it, her eyes locked on the ring that was circling one of her fingers: a small, yet elegant silver ring with a beautifully carved diamond on it. 

Sighing sadly and with her heart filled with longing, she took off the ring and looked at it for many long moments: Aragorn had given her that ring on the day of their marriage. Then her eyes drifted to the window and the woods that could be seen beyond and, though she knew she would get no answer, her heart called out with all its strength to her beloved.

"Where are you?"

Yet she knew that she had to do something as well. The question that still remained however was how and what; and the only answer she could come up with was never lose hope. That, however, only frustrated her the more until, realizing that she could only wait to hear Aglarâd's story, she walked back into her room.

\-------------------

"Sire, smoke rises straight ahead of us!" cried out one of Aragorn's scouts who were riding in front of the team.

"How far from here?" asked the king, unable to hide his gladness at the news.

"About an hour's ride," came the answer. "And it comes from a large camp."

"It could be woodsmen," ventured Gimli, who was sitting with Legolas on Arod. 

"No, my friend," replied the Firstborn as he looked toward the smoke as well, his sight still sharp despite the brightness of the sun; "the men I see carry armour and weapons, while they bear the military colours of Gondor."

"That means it can only be Captain Iorlas and his men," said then Aragorn, who had by now ridden with the rest of the men to the scout's side. "Do you see Undómiel with them, Legolas?"

Legolas's only answer, however, was silence and a full of regret shake of the head.

Aragorn's hands turned into fists in his attempt to control the emotions that raged within him. Speed was of utmost importance in finding anyone missing; for the sooner they were found, the more chances there were that they would be found alive. But now it seemed time was flying too quickly and in defiance to the Man's agony.

"Let us go and meet them," he finally said, spurring Brego onwards. And though he tried to hide the effort with which he said those words because of his emotional turmoil, he was certain that Legolas and Gimli saw through him. 

Just like Legolas had said, by the time Arien journeyed for one hour on the sky-dome, the party had reached the camp that Captain Iorlas's team had set up. Being the first to see them, the Second Captain of the Citadel rushed to meet his lord and the reinforcements. And though he bowed his head in greeting, he didn't lift his had again, feeling ashamed for failing his lord.

"I do not hold you responsible for what happened," Aragorn assured Iorlas. After dismounting and once everyone else followed his example, the king led the captain aside to find out as much information as possible. Legolas and Gimli were at his side as well, eager to learn of any news.

"I am afraid we have not been able to discover much, for all our efforts, Sire," said Iorlas. "We did not come across any sign of the Queen nor any other sign that could give us a clue as to her whereabouts."

"This does not make any sense," remarked Gimli, voicing the thoughts of both Legolas and Aragorn as well. "Why not stay nearby the horse? That would seem a more logical course of action to me, were I to be stranded in the forest with no knowledge of which direction to take."

"That can only mean ill," seconded Legolas. "Either she was forced to leave…"

"Or she was taken," completed Aragorn.

Everyone immediately grew silent, that possibility proving shocking. It was finally Iorlas who broke the spell, his voice seeming determined, but clearly uncertain.

"If there was any foul play, the culprits would not be able to go far. There are no caves or all that many houses where they could hide. The only house that we found was inhabited by an elderly couple who could not help us; they did not see anything unusual and they assured me that, if there was anything out of the ordinary, the guard dog would have barked…"

The captain's voice trailed off at that moment, for he noticed that both the king and his Dwarven companion were watching the Elf intently. The Mirkwood prince had walked a bit further away and now was quite tense, looking at the surroundings with eyes wide open.

"What is it, Legolas?" asked Aragorn in a whisper, treading slowly toward the Firstborn. "Did you hear something?"

"No," answered Legolas, his own voice only a soft murmur. "But something has its gaze locked on us, watching our every move. Studying us… and waiting."

All but Legolas stirred uncomfortably and reached for their weapons, their eyes darting to every direction.

"Where?" whispered Iorlas.

"I am not certain," was the only answer Legolas gave as his hand gripped his bow tightly.

What was to come next happened in the blink of an eye. All four of them jumped aside to avoid the sword that was thrown against them. Even before its blade got jabbed into the trunk of a tree behind them, Legolas had already shot an arrow at the direction he had seen the weapon flying from. It was to the sound of a number of twigs breaking under weight that snapped everyone into action. Legolas rushed ahead, one of his blades already in his hand, followed closely behind by Aragorn and Gimli. There was nothing to be seen though.

"Looks like your aim was good," noted the Dwarf. Indeed a few droplets of blood had stained the ground red.

"And yet there is no sign of our quarry," said Legolas, always alert. "I must have wounded him lightly, for he managed to run off quickly."

"Then again, I do not think we are dealing with any usual foe," said then Aragorn, who was now looking at the ground meticulously.

"What do you mean?" asked Gimli, puzzled.

"Do you see any footmarks?" the Man asked. "And yet someone was here. If the blood stains were not enough proof, this," and at that Aragorn picked up a piece of black cloth that was tangled amid some freshly broken branches of a bush, "is enough solid evidence."

"We are not talking about a ghost then," remarked the Dwarf. "But how can one leave no tracks? He must be as light as a feather!"

"As light as an Elf, more likely," said Legolas, stepping slightly aside and pointing at the grass. There was hardly any sign that the Mirkwood prince was standing on the particular place a few moments ago.

"Sire!" Iorlas cried out at that very moment and hurried to the others. After having put quite the effort to pull it out from the tree trunk, he held in his hands the sword that was thrown at them and presented it now to Aragorn.

The king had only to take one look to recognise the weapon for what it was.

"This is Arwen's."

"The riddle darkens," noted Legolas thoughtfully.

"I could not agree more to that," said Gimli. "I only know of two Elves in these parts of the world: one is standing right beside me and the other would never use her sword against us."

"There is something else which is troubling me as well," said Aragorn, his eyes locked on the shadows of the woods; then turned to the Mirkwood prince. "If there is indeed an Elf in the forest and we came across him, why would he attack even one of his own kindred?"

Legolas nodded his own puzzlement at this good question as well. After all, kinslaying was considered a most appalling crime among Elves, a crime loathsome enough to rouse even the wrath of the Valar. Now, however, it seemed that one Elf was ready to disregard it. Unless…

"Attack was not his intent."

Aragorn nodded, catching up with his friend's train of thought. "This was a distraction so he would find the chance to run off, realising that he was discovered."

"And he did a good job at it too," seconded Gimli. "He got wounded, true, but it was commendable of him to risk that if it could help him escape."

Though Aragorn didn't answer, a part of him marvelled at their adversary's quick thinking as well - not to mention that his curiosity was quite piqued by now. What would an Elf be doing in these parts of the world, since there were no Elven colonies that would justify his presence here? Why would he resort to hiding when the very presence of Legolas amongst them should be enough proof that he had nothing to fear? And, above all else, what did he know about Arwen's fate? 

"Sire?" said then Iorlas, concerned that his lord had grown so silent.

"The hope is faint, but there might be more bloodstains on the ground," Aragorn answered, making up his mind. "Have the men look in every direction for any sign of that Elf. If anyone knows anything about what happened to the Queen, it is certainly he. Meanwhile Master Gimli, Prince Legolas and I will head north in search for our mysterious adversary and, if anyone of us finds out anything, one call with the horn should suffice to summon the rest. Otherwise, we will meet back at the camp at sunset."

Iorlas bowed instantly in obedience and rushed to find the other soldiers to carry out his king's command. As for the Hunters, they started their search at once, dearly hoping that it would not prove in vain.

\----------------

Night had already settled when Aglarâd came into the room Arwen was in. The Elven-woman couldn't help but notice how thoughtful and worried the girl was, nevertheless she didn't speak of it.

"You know why I came," said Aglarâd simply.

All that the queen did was nod in answer. And the Easterling sat down and started telling her tale.

TBC…

**Footnotes** :

* _Istach ú-im coth_ : You know I'm not an enemy (Sindarin)


	5. Daurir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

"As I have already told you, my lady, I wasn't born in Rhûn. My true home is further east, beyond the mountains – or beyond any trees for that matter. For in the world I am coming from there is no green to bring joy to the land. Everything is covered by rock and sand, whereas the water is scarce. If you are unfamiliar with the territory, you have sealed your fate once you set foot on it; doom is the only thing that awaits you. A scorching sun burns your skin and a freezing night makes your blood run cold in your veins; sandstorms can whip your flesh off your very bone or block your lungs and choke you to death, making you feast for the birds of carrion. That, however, is not the worst thing you can encounter in this sea of dunes: were-worms so long that it seems to the human eyes that they can touch the sky - if they put their mind into it - are lurking beneath the ground to swallow you and anything else around to fill their ever-empty stomachs.

"You may think little of the region by the way I'm speaking of it, my lady. Nevertheless people _can_ live there, if only when they are always on the move and skirmishing amongst themselves for the little fertile ground and water they come across. For as the grains of sand shift hither and thither at the wind's whim, we too shifted places constantly in order to survive.

"My tribe was more fortunate than others, that much can be said. We were living at the western outskirts of the Desert, where there was more green and water in comparison to the other territories. Moreover, jagged rocks protected us from the east from any intruders who could have tried to gain our land as their own. Thus it was that we were able to stay there permanently without fear.

"Yet there came a time that our relatively peaceful life was disrupted. I was no more than seven years of age, but I can still recall the hordes that came riding from Rhûn and attacked us with many a war-cry. Though the men tried to fight them back in an attempt to offer the women and children the chance to flee, the raiders proved too fierce and the battle too short. Soon the clash of swords was replaced by another, far more terrible sound: screams of anguish. Everyone was mourning either for the people who died by the Rhûnish blade or for the far worse fate that awaited _them_ , the living."

Aglarâd tensed involuntarily, as images of the destruction pierced her mind. It wasn't so painful to talk about the fate of her tribe and her family; but to replay in her mind's eye all the indescribable mayhem and carnage that she was forced to see at such a tender age made her ill.

Light fingers touching her own made Aglarâd look up. Arwen was gazing her with a calm look, a ghost of a smile brightening slightly her features. It was strange, but this small gesture of encouragement and support was enough to make the girl to get new strength of heart and pick up the thread of her tale once more.

"Whoever survived was taken back to Rhûn to be sold as a slave. I was sold as a servant girl, thus getting separated from my mother and brother forever. Indeed I have not seen them or heard of them again since I was taken away.

"I was soon to discover that the man whom I had to call master made a living out of organising fights on which anyone who had gold coins to spare could place his bets. I was expected to offer food and drink to the spectators and, later on, to entertain them as a dancer between fights."

Arwen barely managed to stop herself from gasping.

"Did he use you as…?" But she didn't finish her sentence, unable to utter something so horrible in her mind.

Aglarâd shook her head, smiling a bit.

"No. My master was a shrewd businessman and he was aware that whatever money he would gain in using me in such a way would be lost once more if something happened and I would be forced not to work for nine months. As a matter of fact, he didn't allow anyone to attempt anything against my person, something that I welcomed with relief.

"Thus the years passed without much trouble. My master favoured me for my obedience and often rewarded me with such finery and jewellery as it would be fit for a dancer so popular with the spectators and the customers. For my name was indeed whispered with admiration among the men… and with jealousy among the women," added Aglarâd with a rare mischievous grin. That, however, quickly changed again to bitterness. "Yet there was an emptiness inside me which couldn't be filled."

"Then the War broke out and my master had to leave to fight. He left behind his son in charge, for a birth defect forbade the boy a military life. Still, his bad leg didn't prevent him from doing as he pleased at his father's absence, earning everyone's resentment within the household. If our master and his guards, men just as cruel and corrupted as the son, hadn't earned our _fear_ , then we would have found the opportunity to escape long ago.

"The tidings from the War weren't good for Rhûn. And soon the soldiers that were returning ashamed and crestfallen confirmed their defeat to the men from the West. But the master had returned with the air of someone managing a small victory of his own, for he had returned with a prize.

"I never had the chance to find out Daurir's real name to tell it to you, my lady, but his dark mood certainly justified the name that my master had given him. The wrath that was reflected in his eyes was enough to make us all nervous close to him, more so when our master warned everyone in the household not to be fooled by his fair appearance – several of the guards that kept him in chains had already paid the price for making that mistake. Everyone got to be so afraid of Daurir, in fact, that in the long run the task of providing him with food and water was handed to me. I can't even recall how many times he frightened me with his abrupt movements and his piercing gaze before finally a grudging tolerance and then a wavering friendship started forming between us. And with Torion's help, he even taught me how to read and write, thus strengthening our connection."

"Who was Torion?" asked Arwen, eager to hear more now that her curiosity was getting quenched.

"Daurir's friend, who was taken captive and brought to Rhûn too. He was the only one Daurir would turn to with love, the only one he trusted before he had also come to terms with my own presence in the cell. Yet that name wasn't real either. It was merely a nickname that Daurir used to call him, clearly in some arrangement between them; after all, Torion never called Daurir by his true name either. If anyone ever heard their names, it was only the walls of their cell."

Arwen nodded slightly, another thought crossing her mind: that Torion meant something more to Daurir, being an Elf. After all, the word _torion_ meant "brother's son" in the Elven-tongue; which could only mean that Daurir was taken captive with his _nephew_ , not merely his friend like Aglarâd was led to believe.

The young Easterling then carried on with her narrative, not noticing Arwen lost in thought.

"Though they were both in chains, Daurir and Torion's pride was not something that could be easily hidden; for indeed they didn't resemble slaves at all. They knew how to strengthen each other's heart and protect themselves against any kind of challenge our master forced them to fight, making themselves in this way unbeatable. The first day that they were placed into the arena they had won a spectacular victory and the audience loved them instantly, thus making our master even richer than he already was. Daurir and Torion, however, hated this situation. They even tried to escape on a number of occasions, but all attempts proved fruitless. They could not hide forever in a region they didn't know and where no one was willing to help them."

"But I believed that there were Elves in Rhûn!" exclaimed Arwen, shocked. "They would help them, surely?"

"Why would they do that, my lady?" asked Aglarâd bitterly. "In Rhûn everyone is taking care of himself alone in order to stay alive. Besides, almost two months after their captivity they couldn't escape even if they wanted to."

"Why? What happened?"

Aglarâd wrung her hands nervously before she answered that question. It was with immense difficulty that she spoke now.

"As I said, Daurir and Torion made a good team and they always won in the matches that our master set for them. One day, however, a man challenged our master and thus the prizefighters had to face some great striped beasts from the depths of the East, a place where the forests are so thick that it seems they can smother you alive. At that fight, everything went awry: one of the beasts managed to throw down Torion and tear off his arm. At the smell of the blood, all the animals went mad with frenzy and they charged against the fallen warrior. Daurir, however, proved a far better match for the beasts and slew them all before any further harm came to his friend. And before anyone could stop him, he rushed to Torion's aid and looked after his injury. It took many days and all of Daurir's efforts, but in the end he managed to save his friend's life. 

"Yet it was to no avail. Our master wasn't willing to let Torion live now that he was useless to him, for it was Torion's _right_ hand that was torn off so savagely. In fact, before Torion even had the time to recover fully, he arrived with guards to execute him. Thus I came to witness a sight I never believed I would see: Daurir falling on his knees and begging for Torion's life. 

"For all Daurir's pleading though, our master wouldn't have it. After all, it would cost him far less to dispose of Torion rather than have him alive at his expense. And he would have truly killed Torion hadn't Daurir's next words stopped him.

'"I will do anything you wish, only let him live!'

"Our master's eyes glinted malevolently, seeing the chance that was presented before him.

'"Anything? Do you swear it?' he asked, facing his prisoner.

'"Anything as long as you let him live,' repeated Daurir steadfastly, though it was clear to him, as to all of us present, what the master would ask of him.

"With a sneer that made everyone feel nervous, our master approached the still-kneeling Daurir and towered over him.

'"Bow to me.'

"Daurir complied, inclining his head and locking his gaze on the ground.

'"Lower,' crooned our master, taking pleasure in seeing the immortal being submitting to him.

"Daurir obeyed again, until finally he was flat on the ground. He saw for a moment Torion, who was shaking his head "no" the entire time; then he felt the Man placing his foot on his neck, forcing him in this way to remain down. Daurir's eyes sparked with anger and his hands clenched into fists; yet he knew that he was in no position to react. 

'"Do you swear on your gods that I am your lord and master, to offer me whatever services I am to ask of you without so much as an objection from your lips? That you will not try to escape the fate that is bestowed on you by _any_ means your kindred knows?'

'"No! Don't do it!' shouted Torion as much as his lungs permitted him in his weakened state, earning a slap from one of the guards.

"Daurir remained silent for many long moments, swallowing hard as if trying to drown down his pride and finally say softly: 'I swear.'

'"You swear what?' snarled our master, triumph written in all his features.

'"I swear… my lord and master,' added Daurir in a hardly audible voice, his eyes shutting in shame. 

"Only then did our master remove his foot from Daurir's neck.

'"Good,' he said simply. And with that he walked away, not paying any more heed to his prizefighter, who had remained where he lay with hardly a muscle moving. 

"Torion then found the opportunity to sit up and, using my hand as support, walk with what strength there was in him to his friend.

'"Why did you do it, you fool?' he said; yet there was nothing but sadness ringing in his words. 'Do you realise that you have just condemned yourself?' 

"Daurir never answered though. He simply arose and sat quietly in his corner waiting patiently for the guards to chain him up. He never said a word that day, nor the day after. He merely let himself willingly tolerate every whim of our master, for he had accepted that he was defeated. 

"If Daurir and Torion's life had been a misery before, after that incident it became a torment. The guards had always been afraid of Daurir, but now that they knew that he wouldn't fight them back, they took all their loathing out on him. Indeed, every guard hurt Daurir and his companion in every possible way, spitting and cursing their race at the command of their chief, a man by the name of Lôkhî and of abhorring ways. 

"Three months later, ill news came to our city: a treaty was signed between the Men of the West and the Men of the East, in which all forms of slavery were forbidden. Our master had no intentions whatsoever to comply to the new laws, of course; thus in the end he kept us all under his service with threats and had to organise his fights illegally and with utmost secrecy. Still he wasn't able to make the money he used to, something that filled him with resentment – to everyone's misfortune. For in his foul mood he punished everyone most severely even for the smallest of mistakes.

"This led to the very day that changed Daurir's life forever.

"The particular day had started ill from the start. Our master's son had been involved in some kind of illegal business and the authorities were looking for him. That meant that our master not only had to protect his son, but also to make certain that his _own_ illegal business wasn't discovered as well. He sent his son to some caves outside the city and put the household in the underground cells where Daurir and Torion already were, so their shouts wouldn't be heard if the law-enforcers arrived to search the house. I was to remain free and treat our guests, presenting myself as the son's wife.

"A couple of hours passed, but there was no sign of the law-enforcers. Then Lôkhî arrived and informed the master that there was trouble at Daurir's cell: the Elf, he said, dared to oppose them again when they tried to silence Torion. 

"I don't think I need to tell you, my lady, in what violent ways they tried to do that, thus causing Daurir's just exasperation. Our master, however, only huffed impatiently, his mind already troubled by other matters.

'"Well, make sure the Elf stays silent too. Do not disturb me again,' he said and waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. Had he been facing Lôkhî like I did, he would have noticed a strange glint in the guard's eyes and a peculiar smile forming on his lips. Yet it was no use talking to the master about it – not that time anyway. The law-enforcers had just arrived and I was expected to be in my best behaviour.

"Some more hours passed, and the law-enforcers finally left empty-handed and our master seemed able to breathe once again, so relieved was he to see them gone. But, as we were opening the cells to let the rest of the household out, he noticed one of the youngest of the guards kneeling by the wall, pale as a sheet and the contents of his stomach spilled on the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?' asked the master, angered by such behaviour. His answer, however, came in the form of shouting mingled with malicious laughter. As though stung, our master quickly rushed to Daurir's cell, for it was from there that those disturbing noises were heard. 

"Once the door opened and the master entered the room, everything had grown uneasily quiet and I didn't dare go any further. Suddenly the silence was broken by the master's roar of wrath, which was instantly followed by Lôkhî thrown out of the cell with such words that I dare not utter most of them again. 

'"Pervert! Disgusting pervert!' the master shouted again and again. 'Is that what I ordered you to do? Get out of my sight and this house, you filth!'

"Lôkhî left, seeming pleased with himself though he was sacked; and my master directed his curses to the rest of the guards. Was that what he was paying them for? That prizefighter had brought in that house the money with which he paid the miserable curs, making him more worthwhile than they ever were. And he didn't intend to show them any mercy if Daurir died because of them.

"At those words and not taking it anymore, I hurried inside to see what happened to Daurir. I screamed as my eyes locked on the floor, now covered with his blood; but somebody swiftly - and probably in shame for what happened - placed a cloak onto Daurir's form before I got a good look at it. 

'"Take her out of here, this is not a sight for her to see!' the master ordered his men when he saw me. 'And make yourselves useful and fetch me a healer – now!'

"Two of the guards quickly rushed outside and another prodded me out as well. I fought hard against him, but it was no use, his grip was too tight. All I could do was turn to Torion in my wish that he, at least, could tell me what happened. Yet, at that very moment, I saw him struggling against his own chains; and he shouted at the top of his lungs amid his tears: 'Fiends! Monsters! The only wrong he did was that he tried to protect me! A curse on you! A curse on you all!'

"And that was all I managed to see or hear. The healer arrived and was hurriedly shown into Daurir's cell, but I could get no news from him except that Daurir's life hanged from a thread. He remained by Daurir's side for many days, receiving a handsome fee from the master, who wasn't willing to lose _this_ prizefighter.

"Two weeks had passed when I heard that Daurir was finally out of danger and all that he needed was rest to recover fully. I returned back to my task of handing the two prisoners their share of food and water; but Torion, now freed within the cell so he could watch over Daurir, kept his friend hidden from me in the shadows, allowing him thus to sleep constantly and regain his strength. 

"Finally, when several more days had gone by, Daurir opened his eyes and, thanks to his Elven-blood, he was soon healed – yet only in body. For in truth Daurir was now only a mere ghost of who he used to be. The fire of life that was reflected in his eyes had utterly died out and his face betrayed nothing but cold apathy, as if his soul had departed and left its shell behind. And as Torion and I found out later, his soul wasn't the only thing that had left Daurir, because no word came out of his lips ever again.

"Yet when Daurir was set to fight again, everyone else in the arena witnessed another person, whose eyes seemed ablaze with fury and hatred whenever someone was set against him; who killed any of his unfortunate adversaries in the most savage of ways and kept striking him even after he had slain him; who still thrashed wildly against the chains the guards used to drag him away from the arena to the point of bleeding himself. They would see Daurir, the murderer. The irony was that that excited them even more, and even now I wonder who was truly the animal.

"More than a year passed this way and it seemed that Daurir hardly acknowledged anyone or anything anymore; because, whenever he was in the cell, he resembled a dead man, lying on the floor and looking at nothing but empty space. He didn't seem to notice neither my attempts to make him swallow some food or drink, nor indeed Torion's sorrow-filled words addressed to him. For Torion talked to him always, hoping against hope that in this way he was reaching in his friend's heart. Sometimes he told Daurir of stories of old, sometimes he spoke of stories that he clearly remembered with nostalgia and he wished to believe that Daurir did too, and sometimes he would implore his friend not to let the darkness that grew within him consume him whole.

"Yet it proved useless. Daurir became alive only whenever he was dragged out to the arena and found the opportunity to unleash his rage.

"That, however, was about to change. After much arguing and fighting between master and son over matters of money, they drew their knives and killed each other. With no master in the house anymore, the slaves were finally free to go where they would. I grabbed the keys and, since there were no more guards to stop me, I opened the cell where Torion and Daurir resided.

"Each one's reactions to seeing the sun as a free man once more was so different than the other's! Though almost blinded after having been outside for the first time after almost two years, Torion smiled warmly, smelling the air that was deprived from him for so long. Daurir's face, on the other hand, betrayed no emotion. He merely looked at Torion and me briefly as though pondering on something. Then, after making up his mind, went to the weaponry where he picked a knife for himself, for he had become his own master again and he was willing to defend that right. After all, the master was no more and no oath could hold his hand anymore.

"As soon as he came out, he beckoned Torion to follow him. And although I didn't expect it, I was allowed to accompany them as well. I suppose Daurir sensed that I had no home to return to and he took up the responsibility to look after me as well. What I know is that, when I looked into his eyes, I thought I saw reflected there, for the first time in a long time, a flicker of compassion. 

"Thus it was that all of us three walked to the direction of the setting sun. I wish I could say that that was the end of our troubles, but that would be a lie. 

"We always walked towards the realms of the Western Peoples, but the journey was long and arduous. We trudged on through rocky plains, our feet sometimes bleeding and our sides aching from weariness because of the many miles of walking. At nights and whenever the elements of nature proved for Torion or me too much to handle, we all huddled close to keep ourselves warm. And though Daurir did everything he could to help us by finding food and water, many were the days that we had to go without either. 

"I had lost count of the days passing long before we had finally reached the ruined gates of the land of Zigûrun, the Wizard.* Then, as we left the mountains behind us, we turned south until we reached the ruins of an ancient city. At that moment, we all knew that we had finally passed the borders and we could be counted among the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. And indeed, the very calmness of nature and the gentle swaying of the tree seemed to welcome us under the West's protection.

"It was among those ruins that Torion, overcome by exhaustion, hardship and the wound caused from his missing arm, which was never fully healed, passed away. He simply asked to rest his body against an old stone, and his farewell flowed out with his last breath."

Arwen sighed sadly at this and, at that moment, she felt for Daurir. It seemed so unfair that the Elf had given up so much to safeguard his nephew, only to lose him at their journey's end.

"I will never forget Daurir's face when he watched Torion die," continued Aglarâd. "It was like he was torn between acceptance of his companion's death and disbelief. He kept looking at me, seeing me unable to control my own grief, and biting himself to drown any sob that risked rushing out of his lips; while he was shaking Torion gently, as though prodding him to wake up."

"The sun was setting once more when Daurir finally arose, his eyes now fixed in a dead gaze. Lifting me up as well, he signalled to me that we should make all arrangements necessary for Torion's departure. It took several hours but, by the time the moon had risen, Torion was in the earth's embrace. And over his grave I placed in writing my farewell to a good person now gone. 

"Then Daurir wrote his own blessing, which he wrote in a language that I'm not familiar with. Yet it still had the power to undo Daurir, for it was only after he had written it that he allowed his tears to flow down his face. He didn't let spasms of grief wash through his body nor his features distort in sorrow; nor indeed did he beat his chest, as many do in their distress. He simply remained kneeling by Torion's grave, his tears trickling down his cheeks and spilling on the ground endlessly – mourning in the same, silent way that he had taken every blow of fate for the last two years.

"It was with that image of Daurir, resembling a weeping statue under the moonlight, that sleep finally claimed me; though it was a troubled one. Upon waking up, I noticed in my wonder that Daurir was nowhere to be seen. When I found him, he was kneeling at the shore of a nearby river, the knife still in his hands and by his legs his black strands, cut. Already several of the locks had fallen into the water and were carried away by the current, yet Daurir's look clearly said everything that needed to be said: that he cared for nothing anymore."

Arwen felt like her heart missed a beat, for she finally realised what was the meaning of her vision. She wondered momentarily at the un-elven way that Daurir chose to express his pain at his loss, but she quickly reasoned that the Elf was in so much grief that he had acted on impulse. She bowed her head, wishing to hide the tears that had started welling up in her eyes.

Aglarâd, however, didn't notice, overcome by the grief of her memories. And though her voice kept faltering now, she bravely carried on with her narrative. 

"From that day on, Daurir became even more withdrawn to himself. He never stopped looking after me, but at nights his mind and gaze always drifted elsewhere as he would lose himself for hours on end in thought.

"This continued on, until finally we came across this house. Daurir had been watching the old couple that still lives here for many days and he decided that I would finally have a decent life. I wouldn't have it at first, at least not without Daurir living in the house as well; for I didn't wish to do what it felt like abandoning him alone, with only his memories." At this, Aglarâd drowned down a sob. 

Not quickly enough though. Arwen lifted her head and, looking at the girl carefully, she realised that there was another reason that the Easterling didn't wish to leave Daurir.

"You also came to love him."

Aglarâd nodded solemnly. "And, I think, he came to care deeply for me too. But, when I confessed my affection to him, he merely claimed that that kind of love came out of our understanding each other's pain of slavery; however, in truth, neither of us needed someone to understand our pain, but to heal us from it."

"Wise words," noted the Elven-woman.

"And able to cut through my heart more deeply than his knife ever would," completed Aglarâd bitterly. "Thus in the end I accepted his suggestion, though it was with a heavy heart that I did. Now I found my place in this world and I console myself somehow with that. But Daurir still wonders in the woods, living in the shadows and only coming here on occasion to see how I'm faring. Upon each visit though, my heart bleeds to see his face paler and more sunken, while his body becomes thinner and lacks more and more strength.

"Even those visits had become scarce, until a month had passed before he appeared through that door again, carrying you in his arms. And when he comes to take you to your own people, it will be the last time I will ever see him again."

"What are you saying?" asked Arwen in surprise; though a horrifying suspicion had already crept with her mind, for Aglarâd's encounter with Daurir finally made sense as well.

"What he said to me only too clearly last night," answered the girl. "Once he returns you to your home and no other responsibility drags on his existence, he will allow himself to wither away, succumbing to his sorrow."

TBC…

**Footnotes** :

*Zigûrun: Sauron in Adûnaic


	6. The Kindness of a Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Arwen immediately shook her head. 

"No!" she declared, horrified. "He cannot give up on life in such a way! Not now that he is free!"

"I know, my lady. Oh, how well I know it," sighed Aglarâd. "Yet he isn't willing to listen. Didn't you hear my desperate pleas at him last night? He simply shrugged them off."

"It is his grief that makes him despair, that is understandable," insisted Arwen. "Yet it is clear also that it has been a long time since he has last tasted joy. If he witnesses this other aspect of life again, perhaps he will reclaim his wish to live again also."

"But, lady, how can that be done?" wondered the Easterling. "He has no kin to return to, otherwise he would have gone looking for them long ago; he wants nothing more to do with Men, the race that treated him so cruelly; and the last of his friends passed away in spite of all his efforts to keep him alive. In _what_ can he hope?"

Arwen started pacing the room, trying to find a solution. Aglarâd watched the Elven-woman, waiting to hear any kind of suggestion from her lips and hope that it would help the person she came to love.

Finally the Queen of Gondor stood by the window, her mind made up.

"I will take him with me."

Aglarâd's hopes crushed again as swiftly as they had arisen.

"He won't have it, my lady," she said, downcast. "I have already suggested it to him."

"But this time we will be cunning," argued Arwen, sitting once more close to the girl.

"What do you mean?" asked she, yet her eyes widened instantly with realisation. "You plan to trick him!"

"The Valar know how much I despise deception," said Arwen, "but I fear this is the only way we can help him."

Aglarâd nodded in agreement. "What is in your mind?"

"Had you told me my exact whereabouts at present, I would have easily found my way home without much error. But," and at that Arwen's voice lowered to a tone of confidence, "this is something that only you and I know."

The girl understood. "You will talk him into guiding you through the forest."

"Yes. And while he guides me I will try to gain his trust. We are both of the Elven-kindred, so it should not prove too difficult."

"But what if he understands the trap?"

"Oh, I am certain he will eventually," said Arwen. "Yet I hope in the meantime he will also understand that I only mean well. And, perhaps, if he puts his mind to it, he will learn to trust my husband, too."

"What if he doesn't? He suffered too much to allow himself to get hurt again."

"Then I will have to make sure he does; because if he sees my husband, it will be the _only_ thing that will keep him from giving up on his life." 

Aglarâd stared at the Elven-woman incredulously at these words.

"Why?" she asked, though a suspicion was already forming in her mind.

Arwen bowed her head. She had never believed that there would come a time when she would hesitate to speak about Aragorn.

"My husband is of the race of Men," she finally said slowly. "But he is noble and kind! He is the king of this realm!" she quickly added, seeing Aglarâd ready to protest.

"This will hardly make a difference to Daurir, my lady! He will still regard it as another betrayal!"

"I am aware of the risk; but it is the only chance Daurir will have to regain his faith," Arwen argued. "Both my husband and I are healers and we can help him, if he will permit it."

"Or might quicken his death!" argued Aglarâd, distressed. "He might regard himself a prisoner again and so forsake this world anyway."

"Which will mean that he was beyond _anyone's_ aid anymore, as harsh as it may sound."

Aglarâd didn't answer back. She merely bowed her head in defeat. Arwen walked up to her and prodded her to look up at her.

"Believe me, young one; if there was any other option, I would have chosen that one without hesitation. And even if there is one, I fear I cannot see it. Can you?"

The Easterling shook her head.

"Then surely you must understand that we should at least try out the plan I have in mind. If he is so determined to go to the Halls of Mandos, a few days more should not make a difference to him. But he should not be deprived of the chance to change his mind. No one should have such a fate and certainly not him, you know this. That is why you implored him to reconsider his decision, is it not so?" 

The girl took with both hands the Elven-woman 's and kissed it in respect.

"Then I will help you in any way I can, for I will not have his death in my conscience."

"Your help is most welcome and needed," answered Arwen with a smile, gently pulling her hand away from Aglarâd's grasp. "Do you know when he is to return?"

The young girl's eyes widened at the question and she swiftly looked out of the window.

"What?" asked Arwen, not really understanding.

"He was to come tonight. Before the moon was high up at the sky."

Arwen looked outside the window too, only to see that Ithil was almost at the _end_ of his journey.

"Has he ever been late before?" she asked Aglarâd worriedly. 

"No," answered the girl, still looking out nervously.

\-------------------------------

The moon disappeared behind the mountains, offering thus the stars the opportunity to shine without covered by its brilliance. However, even that small light that Elbereth's creations shed was soon to disappear, for dawn was rising swiftly. Already the horizon was painted with brighter shades of blue, soon to be replaced by grey.

Aragorn became more alert as he was resting against the trunk of a tree, and smelled the morning dew that reached his nostrils in surprise. He hadn't realised how long he had remained like this, lost in thought.

" _Nauthach oh Arwen?*_ " a familiar voice was heard, cutting into Aragorn's thoughts.

The man turned swiftly, seeing Legolas sitting on a rock only a little further away from him.

"How long have you been here?" he asked wonderingly.

"Long enough to be certain that you would never have heeded my presence had I not spoken," answered Legolas, his eyes twinkling at the tease. 

"And Gimli?"

Legolas raised his hand and then signalled the Man to listen. Aragorn did just that, and he indeed heard a distant snore.

"For all the Dwarves' energy, this search proved draining," explained the Elf, smiling a bit. Soon he had sobered once more. "You should rest a while, too. Why do you let the darkness of doubt haunt you?"

"Because for all my hopes for a sign of Arwen, there is only silence instead," answered Aragorn, heaving a sigh.

Legolas stood up and clasped his friend's shoulder in a sign of support.

"Never stop hoping, my friend. Not idly were you named Estel in your days of youth." 

"Yet we searched in every part of the forest. We should have found her by now, or at least that mystery Elf who seems to know of her fate. What happens if Arwen is truly…?"

But Legolas stopped him before Aragorn could utter his friend's worst fear.

"What does your heart tell you?" he asked simply.

Aragorn remained silent for a few moments, pondering the question before finally answering.

"That she has to be alive."

"Then she _is_ alive and we _will_ find her. And, perhaps, she might be able to tell us of the other Elf as well."

"Perhaps," echoed Aragorn, forcing a smile on his lips; then looked up at the sky. "Arien has arisen. We should start the search again."

Legolas nodded his acknowledgement. "I will wake up Gimli." And with that parting word he let the Man be, still looking up at the sky and his gaze now fixed on the last flickering stars.

_I will find you, Arwen,_ declared Aragorn in his mind, _even if it means looking for you until my dying day._

\------------------------------------

Arwen still watched a brilliant sun rising as dawn was coming swiftly, while Aglarâd still paced up and down the room nervously. There was still no sign of Daurir.

"Something happened to him," Aglarâd finally declared, the waiting proving too much for her now.

"I begin to fear it, too," said Arwen thoughtfully, turning to the Easterling. "Is there a place where Daurir takes refuge when in hiding from any danger?"

Aglarâd stopped in her tracks and thought hard for many moments. 

"There is a small cave, about an hour's walk from here. But I'm not certain if he is seeking refuge there anymore. When I was still with him, we often changed hideouts so as not to be discovered easily."

Arwen nodded her head in understanding and remained silent. Then she turned again to Aglarâd as another thought entered her mind.

"I saw a dog here in the morning. Do you have anything that belonged to Daurir so the dog can smell his trail?"

Aglarâd's face brightened.

"I have a strand of Daurir's hair!" she cried happily. But her eagerness soon wore off as she realised something. "Îbal is a guard dog though, not a hound."

"That will not prove a problem, have faith in me," Arwen assured the girl with a small smile. The Elven-woman knew that the dog would understand what she would ask of it.

Aglarâd answered with a smile of her own and rushed to go outside. Yet the moment she opened the door, she froze and instantly covered her mouth with her hand so as not to cry out her surprise.

Arwen stood up to see what was amiss, though a suspicion had already formed in her mind. Daurir was indeed standing at the threshold, now placing a finger over his mouth in a gesture of silence. 

Nodding a bit, Aglarâd backed away from the door, still staring at Daurir in wonder as the cloaked Elf walked slowly into the kitchen.

As Daurir stepped into the light and lifted his hood so he could look at Arwen the better, Arwen clearly saw what had shocked Aglarâd in the first place. If Daurir's face was pale before, now it carried a ghostly hue that made him seem like a spirit of the dead; his dark eyes had a tired, defeated expression that held Arwen under their gaze for many moments. But Arwen didn't feel uncomfortable. She returned the look, hoping that Daurir's eyes would allow her even a glimpse in his soul.

"He says they are looking for you," said then Aglarâd.

"What?" asked Arwen, confused.

"He just told you that there are many men in the woods. They are looking for you," repeated Aglarâd, translating Daurir's signals into words. "He also asks if you know them."

"What did they look like?" asked Arwen with hope.

Daurir signalled again.

"Men with armour," translated Aglarâd. "The image of a tree and seven stars on their chest. An Elf and a Dwarf accompany them."

Arwen's heart leapt with joy at such news.

"Yes, I know them! They are with my husband, who must be looking for me!" said Arwen at once. "Please, take me to them!"

Daurir remained still and rubbed his forehead, as if lost in thought. Arwen understood that Daurir didn't wish for that sort of development. After all, taking her personally to other Elves was one thing, but to Men?

Daurir then turned to Aglarâd. Realising what he would ask of her, Arwen slightly shook her head, hoping that the girl would notice her.

Fortunately, Aglarâd did.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, Daurir," she replied quickly. "I don't know where to look for the soldiers and, besides, I might be missed."

Daurir's jaw clenched. He clearly didn't expect that kind of answer. He made a motion to fold his arms, but he stopped midway, and started pacing the room instead.

Aglarâd and Arwen exchanged glances as they observed Daurir while he was still thinking. They spoke no words, but both of them shared the same thought. Daurir was holding his left shoulder too stiffly, whereas his clothes were in part covered in brownish stains. They both knew that those were _not_ mud-stains, but Arwen could see even more than that. Her experience as a healer enabled her to see that Daurir's shining eyes and the thin film of sweat that had by now settled on his brow wasn't a good sign. Still, she couldn't try to convince him to tend to his wound before some trust was developed between them.

If Daurir knew that the women never took their eyes off him as he still walked up and down the room in thought, he never showed it. After heaving a sigh, he marched to the door and opened it. Just when Arwen thought that Daurir would walk out and leave, he turned abruptly and beckoned her to come with him. Such was Arwen's surprise at this that Daurir had to beckon her again, this time in an impatient manner, before she went out as well. He certainly wanted to be done with that errand as soon as possible.

As the two Elves started walking away, Aglarâd was standing a little further away, wringing her hands nervously. Finally making up her mind, she called out to Daurir, making him stop in his tracks, and ran toward him. Daurir turned, not really understanding what Aglarâd wanted of him. 

Arwen understood perfectly well though. Thus she went a little further ahead to let the two be for a while and waited patiently.

Aglarâd stood in front of Daurir, her small, slender form seeming even smaller compared to the cloaked Elf's tall and broad body frame.

"I merely wanted to say goodbye," Aglarâd finally said after what it seemed a very long time, not daring to look Daurir in the eyes.

It finally dawned on Daurir. This would be the last time they would ever see each other again before he would let himself die. He prodded Aglarâd with the gentlest of touches to look up at him and his bloodshot gaze locked on the girl's sad one; then he placed a chaste kiss on her lips and embraced her in a sign of farewell and comfort. 

"I will try to be happy for both of us," said again Aglarâd, once released from Daurir's grasp; and, not taking it anymore, she fled back to the house before the Elf saw the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

Yet, in the long run, Aglarâd found joy in the face of her masters' son, when he came to pay them a visit. He fell in love with her as soon as he caught a glimpse of her face and, soon after, he married her, giving her a chance to finally live happily to the remainder of both their days.

Daurir, however, would not be destined to learn of those things. He simply walked forward once more, leading Arwen through the forest.

\--------------------------

Both Elves walked for some time, Daurir in the lead, Arwen slightly behind, her eyes always on him and watching his every move. She was dismayed to see that her guide's condition was getting worse, for she could clearly hear his breathing becoming shallower by the minute. What was worse, his gait had become slightly wavering and faltering, the natural grace of the Elves being replaced by the movements of a seemingly drunken man. It was when Daurir started leaning against the bark of every tree they passed by for support and another crimson stain became visible on his clothes, however, that Arwen decided to speak.

" _Ú 'erich delio haru lín anuir. Ú-si sereg lín edsiria ad_ ," she said.

Daurir paused and looked at Arwen, his expression unclear; then resumed his walking again.

But Arwen didn't intend to let him off so easily. She had seen the fine drops of sweat on his face and she knew what that meant.

"Your fever is only getting worse, too. I do not know if you realise it, but your wound has probably been infected," she said again, always talking in the Elven-tongue.

This time Daurir didn't stop walking. He simply shrugged off the comment with indifference - at least, as much as his hurt shoulder permitted him to. 

"I am a healer. I can help you if you let me. Will you show me where you are injured?"

Arwen earned a very angry glare, thus getting her answer.

"You cannot carry on like this," she insisted.

Still moving, Daurir faced the Elven-woman and with a grim smirk stretched his arms in an evident statement of "Observe me"; then turned his back on her again.

"Why do you treat yourself like this?" asked then Arwen, stopping. "What did your captors do to you?"

Daurir stopped in his tracks as though stung. He turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Aglarâd told me of your life. You have suffered too much already to let yourself be tormented like this anymore."

In a few strides, Daurir had covered the distance between him and Arwen. In fact, their faces were so close now that their noses almost touched and strands of Arwen's hair swayed at Daurir's breathing. Yet all he did finally was raise a finger of warning close to her eyes. _Not another word from you._ And with that, he turned away again.

Arwen, however, was determined now to try and reach Daurir at any cost.

"I understand your exasperation for what they did to you."

Daurir snorted loudly, never stopping. _You understand nothing_. He looked around, annoyed that he couldn't find any soldiers now that he _wasn't_ avoiding them.

"Then _help_ me understand!" cried Arwen, unable to take it anymore.

Daurir placed his hands on his head as if to pull out the rest of his hair from the roots. He faced Arwen again, his face reddened by more than just his high fever.

_How?_ he clearly mouthed in the Elven-tongue, pointing at his neck furiously. _How?_ he asked in his silent manner again and, unable to take out his anger in any other way, he kicked a nearby stone and sent it flying, making Arwen flinch. Still, that wasn't enough. Trembling, Daurir dug his nails in the bark of the tree in an attempt to brace himself before doing anything worse.

Arwen remained frozen, the violence of that outburst shocking her, even though she had been expecting it. As Daurir didn't say anything, she ventured addressing him again.

"You are right, perhaps I cannot understand. But I still wish to help you."

Daurir faced her again, his breathing more difficult than ever, his hard, feverish gaze piercing her. Suddenly, to Arwen's horror, he opened his mouth in a silent scream and he collapsed on his knees, his hand clutching his chest. Arwen quickly rushed to his side to see what was the matter. Though she found herself only inches away from Daurir's knife, now almost miraculously in his other hand as Daurir tried to keep her away from him, she stopped only momentarily before she started leaning towards him once more. She did not care for the drops of blood that trickled down her neck as the blade broke her skin.

Now it was Daurir's turn to look at the Elven-woman agape, withdrawing the knife before he would harm her further. Such was his surprise, in fact, that he didn't react when she placed one hand on his face and the other on his chest. 

Arwen's fingers barely touched the wounded Elf as she tried to feel the heat that radiated from Daurir's face and his injured shoulder. It was to her great sadness to see that her suspicions were true: Daurir was suffering badly. But what truly concerned Arwen was how the other Elf still clutched his chest, for it showed her that it wasn't his shoulder that ached the most at present. It was his heart. 

She locked her gaze on Daurir's eyes, which reflected his apprehensiveness and confusion; and she caught herself still staring at him in wonder. For she discovered that, behind the paleness and lines of sorrow, Daurir – or whatever the Elf's name truly was – was quite young. In fact, Arwen could now tell with ease that he was even younger than her and her brothers - so much younger that though he was clearly an adult, he seemed only a child in her eyes.

"Merciful Elbereth!" she said softly, before she could help herself. "How old are you?!"

But Daurir didn't even bother to answer. He pulled himself away and curled into a ball, averting his eyes. 

Arwen looked at the pitiable sight of an Elf, tears welling up her eyes. If _Daurir_ was so young and innocent when he was taken captive, she didn't dare think how young Torion, his nephew, must have been. The loss Daurir suffered seemed far more terrible now and she felt for him with all her heart – more so as she realised that he wished to end his life when, in her mind, he didn't even have the chance to taste it! 

She reached out again and rested her hand on Daurir's shoulder; but he only bowed his head even lower and hid his face in his hands. Arwen closed his eyes, concentrating hard, trying to offer part of her strength to the injured Elf. She felt him stirring, but she didn't let him go. Only when Daurir grabbed her arm and thus forced the contact to break that Arwen opened her eyes, to see him in her surprise shake his head.

That proved Daurir's mistake. Weakened as he had become, that simple movement clearly made him faint, for Arwen felt his body losing all its tension and he went limp against the tree. Had it not been for her grabbing him at the last minute, he would have certainly crashed to the ground.

"Now will you listen to reason?" she said, exasperated. "To have pride against a foe is indeed admirable; but to let your pride stop you from accepting help offered is foolish! I am not your enemy and you are aware of it, otherwise you would not be here, _helping_ me." She gently prodded Daurir to face her and her tone softened. "Look into my eyes and decide for yourself whether you should place faith in me or not."

Daurir complied and he held her under his gaze for many moments, until finally he nodded his head once and reached for her hand to squeeze it gently. He would accept her offer, though grudgingly, as his deep sigh revealed only too clearly. 

Arwen rewarded Daurir with a small smile; then helped him become more comfortable against the bark of the tree. Hesitantly, she took a peek underneath Daurir's shirt in order to see the injury. To her relief, it wasn't bleeding as bad as she had believed first, but she knew it had to be tended.

"We passed by some healing herbs not too long ago. I promise I will return shortly."

Daurir nodded again in understanding. But, before letting Arwen leave, he handed his knife to her.

"You are injured, you need it more than I do," Arwen said, hardly hiding her wonder at the gesture.

The slightest of smirks appeared on Daurir's lips and he urged Arwen again to take his knife. He pointed at himself and picked up a couple of branches that were on the ground, a motion that Arwen didn't understand at first what it could mean. At the next moment, however, realisation dawned on her.

"Try not to make any sudden movements as you look for more firewood," she instructed. "I must tell you though that I only permit it because I do not wish to waste precious time in preparing the herbs. There is still danger of the infection spreading further in the meantime." 

Daurir blinked once this time, another sign that he understood; so Arwen hurried off, intending to be as quick as possible.

\------------------------

He watched the Elven-woman go until she was finally out of sight and then resumed with his own task, being careful not to discomfort his shoulder too much. Yet, while he was still gathering firewood, he caught himself thinking about the lady.

She puzzled him; there was no doubt in his mind about that. Why was she so determined to help him? Only because Aglarâd had told her his story? No one could understand by listening to just a _part_ of a tale. Aglarâd could tell some facts to the lady, true; but for all her narrative skill she would not be able to tell how the days _after_ he regained his freedom went by. When, even now, he could still feel the cold steel of the collar and the braces that held him in place; his back burning whenever he recalled the crack of the whip; or his ears ringing with the guards' mocks and jeers; or indeed his boiling blood rushing through his veins whenever he was sent out of his cell for the kill.

He curled his upper lip in distaste when the woman _demanded_ he should make her understand, nevertheless he regretted losing his temper like that. After all, it was not the lady's fault that he couldn't speak. Come to think of it, in a way he was relieved she couldn't know. He felt that she was in this way spared from much horror.

Yet the question remained: _Why_ did she wish to understand? _Why_ did she act as though it mattered to her what he had been through? Out of pity? He looked at himself and raised an eyebrow. She didn't want to be indebted to someone with such a rascally look and she now tried to clear her conscience by offering her help? He snorted. If she really wanted to help she could let him be in his misery until Mandos claimed him.

He sighed. It was when he made that very thought that his by now familiar ache, so much like a cracking, pierced through his heart. He had grown accustomed to it, ever since it started three, maybe four months ago – it had become an almost impossible task to keep track of time anymore. This time, however, he was taken by surprise to feel that the pain was much greater this time, almost numbing him.

Now that brought up the next question: Why did she come to his aid when he collapsed? What did she see in his eyes to make her ask such a strange question about his age? He had quickly averted his eyes in fear she could read his mind, yet he couldn't help but feel intrigued as well; she was not the first Elf to wonder about his age. And to think that he was considered old by the Dwarves! Lóin would have certainly found it amusing.

Ceranos's heart wrenched when he recalled his foster nephew. He had made an oath to himself to protect the members of the family that had raised him, only to see that all his efforts had come to naught. They were dead and he was alone. Why did it have to be this way? Perhaps if he had done things differently or he had said other words…

He shook his head. If… what? Did it really matter now? The past can never be undone.

But why did _he_ have to live? He should have died as well, yet he was alive! What purpose served this injustice?

_Then why not go in search of the Halls of Mandos now? It can be so easy for an Elf to let his grief kill him_ , echoed a small voice within his mind. He knew the answer, of course, and it displeased him to no end. He was _afraid_ to die and see that he would have to linger in the halls of the Elves; to be separated anyway from the ones he had called comrades.

On the other hand, living on seemed such a heavy burden now that there was no more purpose left.

His mind drifted on the woman's touch on his shoulder. Ceranos couldn't understand what kind of sorcery she used on him, but it was staggering to feel such warmth surging through him. At first he tried to pull himself away, startled, only to discover that he _didn't_ wish to move, for he felt that the frost of despair was melting away. It was strange, but for the first time in a long time he had feelings of… hope.

Then feelings of shame overcame him and made him break the contact. He had no right to be happy when people he cared for were dead so unfairly.

Yet the woman still wished to offer her help; so, in the end, he was forced to yield. And now there he was, building a fire. _Not that it will help matters,_ he thought wryly. His body knew nothing but cold now for a reason he couldn't fathom.

The noise of a twig breaking snapped him of his thoughts. His hair stood on end when he sensed somebody approaching him. His fingers gripped more tightly around the branch he was holding, his fever and wound forgotten for the present; then closed his eyes and waited.

" _Henio, aníron, ú-'erin ûthaes_ ," he heard a voice say calmly. " _Leithio i golf._ "

Ceranos opened his eyes and looked at the Man before him, recognizing him: he had spied on him and his companions on the previous day; he even held the sword that Ceranos had thrown at them as a diversion. He allowed himself an inward smirk, thinking it ironic that everyone was speaking at him in the Elven-tongue just because he happened to be Elf. Then again, he couldn't expect them to think that he would be more acquainted with the Dwarven speech. 

The Man came closer now, making Ceranos tense even more; but he merely presented the sword to the Elf.

"This sword belongs to somebody I care for very much," he said, always in the Elven-tongue. "You found it somewhere, that much I understand. But what I need to know is _where_ did you find it."

Ceranos, however, never found the opportunity to give an answer. A cry of joy and surprise made both Man and Elf turn, and Arwen flung herself in Aragorn's arms.

TBC…

**Footnotes:**

_*Nauthach oh Arwen?:_ Are you thinking of Arwen? (Sindarin)

** _Ú 'erich delio haru lín anuir. Ú-si sereg lín siria ad_ : You cannot hide your injury forever. Much less now that it has reopened. (Sindarin)

*** _Henio, aníron, ú-'erich ûthaes:_ Please, I mean you no harm. (Sindarin)

**** _Leithio i golf_ : Lower the branch. (Sindarin)


	7. United Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Aragorn still held Arwen in his arms, scarcely believing in his good fortune. He had decided to separate from Legolas and Gimli and search this area on his own, even though neither the Elf nor the Dwarf would have it at first. After all, if there was something or someone that ensnared Arwen, there was a high chance that Aragorn could be captured too. The King of Gondor was adamant, though. He wanted to cover as much area as possible in his search for Undómiel and he was still able to defend himself in case of danger. He only accepted their request that, should he come across any trouble, he should immediately use his hunting horn.

He hadn't gone far when he set eyes on the darkly clad form. He immediately understood that before him was the phantom Elf they had also been looking for, because the torn piece of cloth was still in Aragorn's hands and, moreover, he could see the blood-stains on the form's shoulder – certainly where Legolas hit him with his arrow. He put aside his wonder at the strange sight the short-haired Elf proved and stepped forward in the hopes that his questions would be finally answered, only to find Arwen alive and well. Aragorn couldn't thank the Valar enough for answering his silent prayers.

"How came this to be?" he finally asked, once he found the power of his voice again. "When Iorlas told me about your horse and you were nowhere to be seen…"

"I was hurt," answered Arwen, still her arms about her husband. "But I was looked after and nursed to health because of Daurir."

Aragorn smiled, but at the next moment he froze and looked over Arwen's shoulder apprehensively. Arwen turned also to see what was the matter.

Daurir was glaring at them, his body completely rigid. What was worse, he was now stepping away from them.

"No, Daurir! Let me explain!" Arwen cried and rushed at his side. "He is my husband! You have nothing to fear!"

Daurir lunged forward, almost making the Elven-woman flinch again. Grabbing her arm, he snatched his knife from her belt in the blink of an eye and got ready to run off as fast as his feet would carry him. 

Aragorn, however, misunderstood the motion. Fearing for Arwen's safety, he unsheathed and hurried between her and Daurir.

That proved a mistake. Daurir, misinterpreting Aragorn's intentions in turn and believing that the Man was attacking him, stepped aside and with another fast move lowered himself so to throw his opponent off balance with a quick swing of his leg.

Aragorn landed with a heavy thud, yet his surprise didn't make him idle. In the next instant, he was on his feet again, swinging Andúril against the Elf. Before he had the chance to hit anything though, Daurir had blocked the attack with his knife and was now aiming the Man's head with the branch he was still holding. Aragorn stopped the branch on time with his free hand, but he didn't have the time to avoid Daurir's kick on his stomach.

"Stop it, both of you!" Arwen cried, watching the fight with distraught.

Neither Daurir nor Aragorn heeded her; the Elf was quickly sinking to battle-frenzy, whereas it took all the king's strength to fight back each relentless attack. All Arwen was left to do was watch on, horrified to see proof of how it was that Daurir had survived in the arena. Once finally snapped out of her numbing shock, she rushed for her sword, which was dropped only a little further away. She _would_ put an end to this madness, one way or another.

Meanwhile, Aragorn was still defending himself, dismayed that his opponent was a far more difficult match than he had expected. Raised among Elves, Aragorn had come to study the Elven way of combat and he had become a master of it himself; but _this_ Elf was fighting unlike any other Firstborn he had encountered in his life. There was cunning in Daurir's movements, accompanied with brutal force and speed. Already it was only Aragorn's quick reaction that saved him when Daurir _feigned_ a couple of attacks to his right side, only to attack on his left. The Man wasn't certain if he could fight back much longer. Injured or not, an Elf always proved a fierce and formidable warrior.

The next events happened so quickly that, by the time Aragorn registered things, it had already been over. An arrow flew between the adversaries, startling them enough to separate them. And before the Man had time to bring himself in a fighting position again, an axe stopped Andúril midway.

"That is enough!" said Gimli, forcing Aragorn away from his opponent.

The Man looked agape at the Dwarf and then at Legolas, who had stepped forward, aiming another arrow at Daurir. Such a precaution was unnecessary, however, for Arwen had already parried Daurir's next attack and pushed him against a tree. 

The short-haired Elf's face reflected his pain at the impact his left shoulder suffered. He fell on his knees again, panting for air.

"I told you to stop," said Arwen, looking hard at him. 

But Daurir didn't say anything, nor did he try to fight back again. Whatever strength he had been saving due to his bleeding was drained at the clash.

Aragorn turned to Legolas and Gimli, still eyeing them incredulously. "How did you two get here?"

"Well, we figured that we would be of more assistance if we followed you," said Gimli with a broad grin.

That actually made the Man frown.

"I thought we had agreed that we should separate for a while."

"I am afraid, my friend, that it was only _you_ who agreed to that and _we_ had to give in," said Legolas as he now approached with the bow on his shoulder, his eyes shining mirthfully. "But, then again, considering that neither Gimli nor I are soldiers under your service, we have the right to decide whether we should comply to your decisions or not."

Aragorn's frown faded a bit at this. But he still didn't wish to let his friends off so easily.

"I declare: you, Legolas Thranduilion, have a most annoying habit of playing with words to make your point!" he said, his half-smile revealing his tease. He placed his hands on his friends' shoulders gratefully. "Thank you both." Then Aragorn's face grew stern again, and he walked to see the Elf who had dared try to harm him and his wife.

Any feelings of anger he had were soon to be vanished, however. Daurir was flat on the ground, frighteningly white and his eyes closed; whereas Arwen was pressing a piece of cloth, now soaked in blood, against his shoulder.

"Help me, his bleeding has gone to the worse!" she said frantically and pointed close to the abandoned firewood. "The herbs are over there!"

His healer's side taking over, Aragorn instantly grabbed the medicinal plants and knelt beside Arwen, offering his own skill as well.

"Whatever should we help him for?" wondered Gimli, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "He could have killed Aragorn!"

Legolas rested his hand on Gimli's shoulder, thus making him look up to him.

"He is also hurt, and it is not our place to judge those that need our help. Remember it, Gimli."

"And this one needs every help possible. I only hope it will not come to naught," seconded Aragorn, overhearing them; Daurir's condition was getting worse by the minute. "Legolas, Gimli, make a stretcher. We will have to take him to our camp." 

Both Elf and Dwarf nodded their acknowledgement and they rushed on their errand. As soon as they were out of sight, Aragorn leaned close to Arwen.

"You will have to explain matters to me once we are safe to our camp."

"I know," answered Arwen. "And I will, I promise."

\-----------------------

The camp was peaceful as the Gondorian soldiers still stood guard, making sure that nothing would attack in the middle of the night. And though they were all relieved to see their Queen alive again, they couldn't help but feel curious about the injured Elf. In fact, some of the soldiers that were close enough kept looking at the strange find that their lord had brought in the stretcher. Only their sense of duty made them remember themselves and thus carry on with their appointed task.

Aragorn pushed back some locks of hair away from Daurir's brow and felt the unconscious Elf's forehead again. Allowing himself a small smile of relief, he covered Daurir with a blanket and joined the rest of the company, who were sitting by a small fire.

"Well, how is he?" asked Gimli, more out of courtesy than actual concern.

"His fever has dropped and the wound, though not healing just yet, has at least stopped bleeding. He is a fighter."

"Except that he has good reasons _not_ to fight this time," noted Arwen in rare grimness. "I should never have allowed this to happen."

"You cannot blame yourself if he chose to react so violently," Aragorn assured her.

"I did not give him enough reasons not to react that way either. Once earning his trust, I should have told him I was married to you, a Man. Putting it off for later was my mistake and I hope it does not prove a fatal one."

"After the story that you told us, Undómiel, I think that he would have reacted harshly anyway, no matter _when_ you would decide to confide in him. Except now we were close enough to come to your aid," said Legolas.

"No, he would not harm me," objected Arwen. "Even though he was forced to live like an animal, he still answers to an infallible instinct, one that exists within all creatures: flee when there is a chance and fight only when cornered. Even a wounded fawn will kick – but only if there is no option left."

" _He_ is no _fawn_ ," said Gimli sternly, pointing at the direction of the unconscious Elf. "And _kick_ was not the only thing he tried to do."

"Yet can you claim that _you_ would not do the same if you were in his stead?" asked then Arwen.

Gimli didn't answer for a few moments; then with a sigh he shook his head.

Legolas looked at the direction of Daurir thoughtfully.

"Who could he be if Daurir is not his real name?" he asked.

"I know not," replied Arwen. "He is certainly not from Rivendell, I would have known of an Elf who is so young. Could he be from your homeland, Legolas?"

"His face tells me nothing," answered the Mirkwood prince, looking back at Daurir. "But that means nothing as well. Many Elves live in the Woodland Realm and I do not know them all."

"Not to mention that he does not have any traits that could make him recognisable. Mahal knows how many Elves _I_ have seen and almost everyone is alike the other. Why, if I did not know any better, I would say he is one of your brothers, Lady Arwen!" declared Gimli.

Both Arwen and Legolas laughed at this.

"Do Elves look so identical to a Dwarf's eyes then, Master Gimli?" Evenstar asked with slight tease.

"When it comes to those I do not happen to know well, I fear so," answered Glóin's son, his beard hardly able to conceal his red with embarrassment face. "Although…" 

"What?" asked both Elves, intrigued.

Gimli didn't answer at once, clearly hesitating to speak his mind. In the end, however, he decided to address the subject.

"I caught a glimpse of his eyes before and I was surprised to see they were almost black. This is not usual, is it?"

Legolas nodded.

"Yes, it is not usual, but not for the reasons you believe, my good Gimli. Daurir's eyes _became_ black."

Gimli's surprise was such that he remained agape for many long moments. 

"The Elves' eyes change colour?" he asked incredulously.

"It is not as simple as that," said then Arwen with a sigh. "The _faer_ , or spirit, is a powerful thing, Master Gimli; especially when it comes to Elves. When the spirit is happy and unburdened, then the shell in which it dwells hums with life as well. But when it is heavy with grief, then the body suffers also. A seemingly healthy person does no longer wish to feed, he lacks any vitality; he _fades_ , until Mandos in his mercy calls him into his halls."

"But the eyes--" started Gimli again.

"The eyes are the mirror of the soul," said Legolas, "and if an Elf lives long enough with his grievances, then the blackness within his heart is reflected in his eyes. Although I must say Daurir is the first Elf I have seen who lived so long in sorrow to acquire such a trait."

Gimli thought about this for a while. "So what you are saying is that Daurir, though still succumbing to grief, he does so more slowly than any other Elf, thus his body is taking more suffers."

Arwen nodded. "That is why he is so cold and loses so much strength after such outbursts of energy like the fight. In fact, I can even say now with certainty that, even though appearances tell otherwise, he does not really _wish_ to die. That would certainly explain why he still lingers on when other Elves would have answered the call of Mandos long before."

"Yet I am not sure how long he is going to last," said then Legolas. "Even though he might not wish to die as you say, Undómiel, his _faer_ still gnaws his body in its attempt to free itself of its burdens. I do not think it will be long before his body will be consumed and his spirit will go to the Halls of Mandos."

"What does that mean?" asked Gimli, not really understanding where was Legolas getting with this.

"It means, my friend Gimli, that Daurir, for the time being, is trapped between two worlds. While his body struggles to remain to the world of the living, his spirit struggles to flee to the world of the dead."

"And both parts are suffering, until the spirit, by nature far more powerful than the body, prevails," completed Arwen, saddened. She still remembered another Elf who was ready to follow the same path long ago and the memory was still painful at times.

Gimli, meanwhile, looked back at Daurir. The shorthaired Elf's face was still wan and his eyes closed. He seemed very much like dead already.

"Unhappy creature. I judged him harshly," the Dwarf finally concluded with a sigh. After all, he felt that anyone dying had no need of his contempt. "What is there to be done?"

Arwen stirred the embers with a small branch, clearly thinking of the situation. "He is not beyond aid. If he finds a new purpose in life, or his spirit regains even part of his former joy, then he will recover."

"The question now is: will he _wish_ to be helped?" wondered Legolas.

"It is worth the try at least," argued Evenstar. "If only we knew his name! That would make a promising start if he is to remember his life before his captivity."

"Perhaps he will tell us when he wakes up," suggested Gimli. The Elves' look, however, made him remember himself. "Well, or write it!"

"If he still wants anything to do with us when he wakes up," noted Legolas grimly. "When do you think he will come around from the sleeping draught you gave him, Aragorn?"

But Aragorn, though still among his companions, had hardly paid them heed. During their conversation, the Man had locked his gaze on Daurir, looking hard at him. The shorthaired Elf's face was still quite pale and worn out, but the lines of care that marked it so deeply had smoothed away and now they betrayed someone Aragorn was certain he should label as familiar.

"Aragorn?"

Elessar's gaze drifted lower and locked on Daurir's shoulders. The Man fleetingly noted within his mind that such body frame was unusually broad for an Elf. And his hair was certainly longer once. His clothing must have been different too. Aragorn could now almost picture Daurir in another time and place, and all he had to do was name that ever-elusive image. He just had to rack his mind a bit more…

"Aragorn!"

As though startled from a dream, the Man turned swiftly. "What is the matter, Gimli?"

"The matter is," said the Dwarf irritably, "that we had to call you three times before you finally snapped out of your thoughts!"

"My apologies," said Aragorn, trying to focus once more. "What did you mean to say?"

"When will the effect of the sleeping draught wear off," Legolas asked again patiently.

Aragorn rubbed his forehead as though trying to think.

"It is hard to tell," he finally said. "Considering that the draught was potent and Daurir quite weak, I would say some time tomorrow. Most probably long after we had all reached Minas Tirith."

"So all we can do for the present is wait," said Gimli.

"Yes." Aragorn looked at everyone, still pondering. "I think we should all go have some rest. Iorlas and his men will stand guard while we get some strength for tomorrow."

Everyone nodded their understanding and started rolling their blankets. After all, their trip back to the White City would be long and difficult, and carrying Daurir would slow them even more.

But, unlike Legolas and Gimli, Arwen didn't lie down at once. She reached and held her husband's hands in hers.

"I noticed your look on Daurir. Do you know him?"

Aragorn hesitated to answer. He stared at Arwen and then at Daurir for many long moments, until finally he replied. 

"No."

The image his mind was desperate in creating was gone in a flash.

TBC…


	8. The Friendship of a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Followed by his companions and Arwen, Aragorn walked into the Great Hall and sat on the throne with a tired sigh. He turned to one of the attending servants who happened to be there at the time and gave him instructions that he should not be disturbed for at least an hour.

"Are the rooms ready to receive our guests for the Anniversary?" Aragorn asked then.

"They've been ready since yesterday, Sire."

"Have one more prepared as well. We might have another attendant."

"Very good, Sire." And with a bow of his head, the servant went out.

"Will that extra room be Daurir's, by any chance?" asked Gimli.

"I intend it to be," answered Aragorn. "He cannot stay in the Houses of Healing forever."

"Meanwhile, we should still try and find out from which realm he is," said Legolas thoughtfully. "My father fought against the Easterlings of Rhûn. Perhaps if I send him a letter with the description of Daurir, he will be able to identify him as one of the soldiers that fought under his command."

"Do you think he will know?" asked Arwen.

"If not him, probably someone of the household or the march wardens will," answered Legolas.

"This will take some time though," said then Aragorn.

"It is still the best option we have for now," argued the Mirkwood Prince with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Indeed," said Arwen, sighing. "I, meanwhile, will write to my grandparents in Lothlórien. Daurir could be from Caras Galadhon, for all we know."

"And somebody should talk to Daurir himself as well. He is bound to wake up quite confused and somebody should help him understand why this is happening to him; that it is for his own good."

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the Hall after Aragorn's words.

"I cannot go," declared Arwen. "Not only he will he wake up confused, but also angry with me. I do not think he will wish to hear anything else I might have to say to him after my actions."

"I cannot go either," said Aragorn. "Not after the clash we had."

Gimli and Legolas looked at each other briefly; then the Elf stepped forward.

"How about Gimli and I? He has nothing against us."

Both Arwen and Aragorn shook their heads at this.

"You released your arrows at us, Legolas. He will remember that. I do not think he will care for Gimli's presence either," the Man said. After all, he knew of the animosity that existed between Elves and Dwarves and, even though there were instances of Aulë's creations being on friendly terms with the Firstborn through the course of history, now only Legolas and Gimli shared such a friendship.

Aragorn sighed. _He_ came to know of another Elf who had great love for the Dwarves, but that one was no more.

_I should have visited you earlier, Ceranos. Now it is too late._ He rubbed his forehead. Valar, why did he have to recall the dead now?

"Aragorn, are you well?"

"Yes, do not trouble yourself," the Man answered at once at Arwen's question." I am merely tired, that is all."

"Should I tell the servant not to disturb you at all today?" asked the lady then.

Aragorn never had the chance to answer, for at that moment another servant came in.

"The hour is not passed," said Aragorn, looking hard at the newcomer.

"Forgive the intrusion, Sire, but this could not wait. Lord Elrond and his sons have just passed the outer gates and they wish to greet you."

Everyone almost jumped at the news.

"Send them in!" Aragorn commanded, hardly containing his excitement. Lord Elrond's advice was always most welcome to the Man, and now it felt like he needed it more than ever.

Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir came in, smiling broadly.

"Tut, tut, Estel! You change your name to Lord Elessar and you have _us_ waiting outside like we are one of your subjects?" asked Elrohir, his eyes shining with the slight tease he uttered.

"Never! Not you, my brothers!" declared Aragorn, embracing the twins tightly.

"We missed you too, Estel," said Elladan affectionately, returning the embrace; then the twins turned to Arwen, gladdened to see their sister again after almost two years, and embraced her as well. "Legolas, Gimli." They smiled to their friends and bowed cordially.

"Elladan, Elrohir," said Legolas, also bowing and having Gimli follow his example; then whispered to his Dwarven companion with a tease, "Elladan is the one on the left and Elrohir the one on the right."

"I knew that!" exclaimed Gimli in mock indignation, only to add in a small voice the next instant: "I think."

Aragorn and Arwen, in the meantime, greeted Elrond, who, to their surprise, put on a serious expression and was looking at both of them hard.

"Though your are indeed glad to see me, I can clearly see that dark thoughts cloud your minds and weariness is reflected in your eyes."

Aragorn averted his eyes shyly. The wise Half-elf had always that quality of seeing through him, no matter how hard he tried to play down his concerns.

"Many things came to pass," he finally said, deciding to speak the truth. "And I wish your counsel."

"That I can always give," said Elrond, smiling a bit. "We should be alone though," he pointed out.

Arwen understood. "I will go with Elladan and Elrohir to show them to their rooms personally. Legolas and Gimli will come with me, too."

"Very well," said Elrond; then prodded Aragorn to walk up to the window, just like he used to when the Man was still known only as Estel and was living in Rivendell. "What has happened?"

And Aragorn started telling his tale.

\--------------------------------------

"Strange looking, isn't he?"

"And so thin, poor thing!"

"Did you see the ears?"

"Of course, silly! He's an Elf, remember?"

"Could he be related to Lady Arwen? There is some resemblance!"

"You also thought _Prince Legolas_ was related to Lady Arwen! Nice-looking and pointy-eared doesn't equal relation, you know!"

"As if you lived among Elves to know better!"

"Hush, you two! He's stirring!"

Ceranos lolled his head sideways in an attempt to will himself to open his eyes, but he failed miserably. What was worse, he had a splitting headache and those women talking over his head certainly didn't help matters much.

_Women?!_

Finally finding the strength, he opened his eyes to see three young women looking at him, all of them smiling.

Ceranos's jaw almost dropped at the sight. _Where did **they** come from?_ Next thing he knew, he was clenching his hands in a weak attempt to push himself away, until his body registered the soft surface of a… _mattress?!_ He froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Darting his gaze to all directions, he realised to his utter surprise that he was in a sunlit room, on a large bed.

_How in the world did I end up here?!_

Just then a gentle breeze coming in contact with his body made him register something _just_ as important. Turning crimson as he suddenly became quite self-conscious, he dared a peek down at himself. Thank the Valar, he still had his breeches on! He pulled up the sheets and covered himself up to his waist.

"My, look at this! He's shy!" exclaimed one of the women, grinning.

"We don't bite, you know," said another one to Ceranos reassuringly. "We merely wanted to look at you."

"After all, we don't always see Elves from so close," said the third one with a nod.

"Well, girls, you have looked at him enough! Can't you see you're frightening him almost out of his wits?" sounded at that moment another voice that Ceranos clearly discerned it belonged to an elderly woman. 

Truly enough, a woman, whose face carried deep lines of age but her eyes betrayed a bright spirit behind them, appeared at the door, holding a water basin, some bandages and some clothes. 

"Now shoo, all three of you! Lord Elessar said our guest is to get as much rest as he can – that's what the Houses of Healing are for, not finding mates!"

"All right, Ioreth, no need to make such a fuss!" laughed the girls and started walking out. "Farewell, fair Elf! Don't be intimidated by Ioreth, her bark is worse than her bite!"

"Bah!" exclaimed the old woman and pushed the door closed with her leg; then walked up to Ceranos, mumbling: "You leave them alone for a few moments and they all start gawping at every man they set their eyes upon." Seeing the apprehensive look that Ceranos gave her, however, made her smile warmly. "Do not mind us, my lord. Our work is difficult and we need to perk ourselves up every once and a while."

Ceranos nodded his understanding and relaxed a bit. He still couldn't rid himself of his fears though, not to mention the fact that Ioreth calling him lord made him feel awkward. After all, he was not one – not anymore anyway. Locking his gaze on the old woman, he studied her carefully as she helped him sit up and dexterously started undoing his bandages.

"The wound isn't healing quickly, but at least it's not very big, my lord. You should be up and about soon enough," Ioreth declared, examining the Elf's shoulder. "When they brought you here this morning, my son, who was holding one end of the stretcher that carried you, kept telling me how awful you looked and how he didn't think you would survive." Ioreth chuckled slightly as she now started washing away the dried blood that had formed on the injury. "Indor is a fine soldier under our king's command, but _I_ have seen quite remarkable things happening in here. All the healers still talk about the time the steward's son was at death's door and our king healed him with mere kingsfoil! Right about the time the War was about to end, in fact. Let me see, when was that?" she pondered, clearly talking more to herself now than to Ceranos. "Bless me, it's been two years since then! And two years since the War ended! Time flies, doesn't it? Did you fight in the War?"

Ceranos's answer was only a small, absent-minded nod, for now another thought preoccupied his mind, making him almost dizzy. He was captive for only two years? 

It felt more like centuries.

"Bad times, weren't they?" said Ioreth, seeing clearly the darkness in the Elf's eyes and guessing – though wrongly – where his mind had drifted off to. "At least we were victorious and now that Gondor has a king once again, we don't have to fear anything again."

Ceranos tried hard to grasp all the information he could get from Ioreth's talkativeness. So he was in Gondor. He had heard of that realm of Men before, of course, but, as far as he knew, there was no king. Time then, no matter how small, has a way of changing things.

"Remarkable man, Lord Elessar, don't you think? He has travelled all over Middle-earth, they say; and I believe it, for he has the oddest set of acquaintances I've seen in my long life! Wizards, Dwarves, Halflings, you name it! He's even married to an Elf! And my, Lady Arwen is beautiful as she is kind! The entire household was worried when news came of her disappearance, you know!" 

Ceranos's teeth clenched involuntarily. Beautiful, yes, but kind? He found it hard to believe it, for he still recalled her deception. She even acted on showing interest in taking care of his wound! 

_You did not see malevolence when you looked into her eyes though, did you?_

He sighed. No, he didn't. On the other hand, why would she do this to him? Out of a wish to help him? What kind of help was that?

Ceranos rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe his headache, which only became worse. He couldn't make anything out of this situation and his questions only became more. 

"Indor told me it was you who finally found Lady Arwen. Is it true?" asked then Ioreth, now bandaging the hurt shoulder again.

Wearily, Ceranos again answered with a nod. The way things turned out, he now wished he hadn't, for he got caught in a predicament from which he couldn't untangle himself – much like back in Rhûn. He shuddered violently, the very thought making his blood run cold in his veins, and hugged himself.

"Frankly, my lord, _I_ should be the one shivering! You feel as cold as ice, if I may be so bold to say!" exclaimed Ioreth and placed a hand over Ceranos's forehead. "You're not feverish at least. Here, these should make things better for you." She picked up the nightclothes she brought when coming in and helped Ceranos dress; then tenderly placed another blanket over him. 

"There, all done!" she finally said, smiling. "I can also fetch you a cup of nice hot milk if you like so to warm your insides." Puzzled, she noticed that the Elf was looking at her thoughtfully. "Did I say something wrong, my lord?"

Ceranos instantly shook his head, trying to show that Ioreth had merely misunderstood him. Seeing no other way, he forced himself to do something he never thought he was capable of doing ever again: he tugged his lips to a small smile.

"Very well, my lord," said Ioreth, answering with a broad smile of her own. "Try to make yourself comfortable and I will return shortly."

And with that she walked out, leaving Ceranos for the time being alone with his thoughts.

\------------------------------------

Elrohir picked up the glass of wine Arwen had offered him and his brother and sipped thoughtfully. None of the three siblings spoke for a very long time and an uncomfortable silence started becoming heavier by the moment. This was something that both Legolas and Gimli had expected, so they had excused themselves long before Arwen had started explaining to the twins what came to pass the last three days.

"This Daurir's tale is all too familiar," the youngest of the twins said grimly.

"You spoke my mind as well, brother," said Elladan. "That is why you wish to help him, is it not, Arwen?"

Arwen nodded slightly. "I have to believe that he can reclaim his life in _this_ world."

Elrohir shook his head. "We tried that with Mother and we failed. Keeping him here confined will only add to his distress and sorrow. There is only one place where one can find the peace he so desires. Even father knew of this and that is why he let Mother sail west."

"On the other hand, the Grey Havens are far from here and Valinor even farther. I do not think he will last if he attempts that journey," said Elladan.

"Mother did," argued Elrohir.

"Because she had not suffered the burden of her torments as long as Daurir has," Arwen said then. "He had to endure for two years, Elrohir; and let us not forget that Mother had us and Father to help her. _He_ is alone."

Elladan raised his hand to appease Arwen.

"What are the symptoms so far?"

Elrohir nodded, a sign that he was interested in what the answer might be also.

Arwen bowed her head and started telling of all her observations.

"Though he has shown that he is capable of great outbursts of energy, Daurir in general lacks strength. He gets tired quite easily to the point of exhaustion, even when he is performing the least of tasks. This weakening of his life-force could explain why the speed of his natural healing ability has been reduced to the point of almost non-existent. Moreover, he is cold to the touch and his eyes have darkened, reflecting the burden of his spirit. And, what is worse is…" She stopped.

"What?" asked the twins, intrigued.

"While he was with me, he suffered through a painful strain in his heart which could be an attempt of his spirit to abandon the body and flee to the Halls of Mandos. I have reasons to believe that this happened before and, if Daurir keeps fading, the pain will also increase in tension and frequency."

The twins sighed and locked their gaze on each other, both sharing the same thought.

"Mother had left for the Undying lands long before she had such symptoms," said Elladan solemnly.

"What of his emotional state?" asked Elrohir.

"Quite unstable," answered Arwen. "He is detached and indifferent for the most part, but that can change the moment he feels provoked. He can become aggressive and violent to the point that he will disregard his own safety. He has also shown signs of lack of concentration and indecision when it comes to important matters; even confusion."

"Has he shown any signs of trusting anyone?"

"Not any clear ones. He has, however, shown signs who he does _not_ trust. He bears a grudge against the race of Men, yet not to all of them."

"What do you mean?" asked Elladan again.

"He is more tolerant to the presence of women. Moreover, like I said before, he will not attack, not even men, unless he feels threatened."

"That is good news. It means Daurir knows where to direct his hatred," noted Elrohir.

"Which will make it easier for Aragorn to speak with him, even if your husband thinks otherwise, Arwen. Indeed, the way I understand things, _he_ must go to Daurir and talk to him."

\--------------------------------------

"No! It cannot be me!" exclaimed Aragorn. "We were ready to kill each other only yesterday!"

"Which is precisely why it must be you, Aragorn," said Elrond, looking sternly at the Man. "You told me how the clash happened and it is clear to me that you both misunderstood the other's actions. Once this has been sorted, Daurir will be more ready to listen to anything else you might have to say to him. Moreover, the fact that you are of the race of Men and yet still willing to make that gesture of peace first will mean much more to him than the fact that you are married to Arwen or that you are the ruler of one of the Free peoples of Middle-earth."

"How?" asked Aragorn wonderingly.

"Is it not obvious?" replied Elrond. "He was forced to tolerate Men treating him as an inferior for two years; now at last he is to meet someone who will treat him as an equal."

Aragorn looked out of the window, clearly pondering on the situation.

"I am still not certain about this," he finally said with a sigh. "You should have seen his face, Elrond. It reflected such fury and hatred!"

"Feelings that derive from his fear," said the Half-elf kindly. "Yes, Estel, Daurir _is_ afraid, never doubt that." He placed a reassuring hand on Aragorn's shoulder, thus making him look at him. "Help him overcome his fear and you will find a friend in him. I know it is difficult, but I never said you should do this alone. Ask anyone's assistance: the twins', Arwen's, even Legolas and Gimli's. Something tells me they will also want to unravel the mystery Daurir proves."

Aragorn finally smiled.

"I will do as you say. In fact, I will go this instant; Daurir should have woken up by now. Will you come with me?"

"Not this time, no. Daurir must not think that you are visiting him because someone is breathing down your neck! You can, however, escort me up to my quarters, I believe they are on your way if I remember correctly."

Aragorn agreed with a nod. They didn't speak as they walked to Elrond's room through the torch lit corridors as night had finally settled in. But, as soon as the Man was ready to leave and continue to the Houses of Healing, the Peredhel grasped lightly his arm.

"Aragorn, the most important thing is that Daurir must not feel like a slave. Do _not_ force anything out of him. Remember it."

"I will remember."

TBC...


	9. Second Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Ceranos finally drank the last draught of the milk Ioreth was kind enough to bring him and placed it on the nightstand next to him. Yet he couldn't follow the advice the woman had given him and rest some more. How ironic that he had longed for a warm, cosy bed these past two years, only to see that he now needed the stiffness of the floor in order for sleep to claim him!

There was nothing for it though. He was too weak to get out of bed for the present and, even if he weren't, anyone coming in and seeing him sleeping on the floor would consider him mad. Not knowing what else to do and having already seen whatever there was to be seen on the walls of his room, he pricked his ears to pick any sound that might be heard outside the door.

"Yes, Sire, he was taken care of, just as you requested. No, indeed, he didn't cause any trouble whatsoever, he was as meek as a lamb."

_Ioreth_ , thought Ceranos, recognising the voice. And he understood quite well to whom she was talking: Lord Elessar, the King of Gondor.

_He had better not come in here_. Ceranos didn't wish to see him, not after what happened between the two of them. He was certain that the Man was angry with him – probably as much as _he_ was with him, in fact. 

"Of course you can see him, Sire. I am sure he would like to see you and thank you for the hospitality you offered him!"

_Oh, no_ , thought the Elf with an inward groan. _What am I to do now?_

The sound of the doorknob turning quickly snapped Ceranos into action. He closed his eyes and held perfectly still, pretending to be asleep. Too late did he realise that, though _he_ had made it a habit to close his eyes before sleeping, the other Elves simply unfocused their gaze. He opened his eyelids in the hopes of correcting his blunder before being noticed, but it was not meant to be. The Man was already at his side, looking at him curiously.

\------------------------------

"Is something the matter?" Aragorn noticed what the Elf did, and he couldn't help thinking that Daurir's behaviour was quite strange. 

Daurir shook his head, but the Man saw the Elf's hands balled into fists. Something _was_ wrong.

"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?"

Daurir didn't reply this time, but even his silence was enough answer to Aragorn.

"I do not blame you. Our first meeting was dreadful," noted Aragorn with a small chuckle. He quickly cleared his throat, however, when he saw that Daurir wasn't sharing the humour of the situation.

"Look," he attempted again with a sigh, "I came here for two things. Firstly, to say that it was wrong of me to think you were about to hurt my wife when you went through such pains to help her. I hope that you will find it in your heart to give me a chance to prove myself to you. Who knows, perhaps even forgive me in time?"

Daurir's face revealed no emotion, but Aragorn noticed how the dark gaze was locked on him. Considering it as a sign for him to go on, the Man ventured to speak again.

"The other thing I wanted to tell you is: Thank you for looking after Arwen. I wish there were enough words to tell you what service you have done not only to this realm, but also to me. That is why I wish to ask something of you."

Daurir's expression hardened at Aragorn's last words. It was evident that the Elf had been expecting a catch in such fine talk and now he believed that it was finally coming up. The Man wondered how afraid and uncertain Daurir must truly feel inside his heart to act in such a way, even though the Firstborn was certainly aware that he was among the Free Peoples of Middle-earth.

"Arwen told me of your unhappy life. How you lost your kin and the life you knew because of the War. Just listen to what I have to say!" the Man quickly said when Daurir turned his head in clear protest. 

The Elf, however, did not heed him. He made a motion as if to get out of bed, while his hands reached for his bandages on his shoulder, ready to shred them to pieces.

"Do not let your pride make you think I am showing you pity!" Aragorn exclaimed, understanding what that motion meant. Rushing to the other side of the bed, he placed his hands over Daurir's to stop him. "What I say might interest you. If not, well, you are free to go where you like. Just stay your angry heart for a few moments to hear what I wish to tell you, that is all I ask." 

Daurir froze, clearly in turmoil. What made Aragorn wonder the most however, was the look that the Elf had as he stared at the Man's hands covering his own. Valar, he started trembling as well! Aragorn quickly withdrew his hands and held them upwards as a sign to Daurir that he was offering him back his personal space. He inwardly berated himself for grabbing the Elf like that when he knew how much Daurir had suffered in the hands of other Men, and he dearly hoped that he hadn't destroyed all chances of the creature learning to trust him. 

The instant Aragorn pulled his hands away, Daurir's body lost some of its tension and his breathing became more relaxed. It was true that his eyes still carried their frightened expression but the Man concluded that it was still better than nothing. If anything, he could now finish what he had to say without worrying about the Elf's fury.

"What I wanted to say all along was that you are free to stay here for as long as it takes for your wounds to heal. However, I would very much like that you stayed longer than that and even start a new life here. The Men here are good and honourable as you will find out, and there are also other Elves here that you can befriend, my wife included. But even if staying here is not in your heart's desire, I still hope that you can consider this place as your home where you can turn to whenever you are in need. It is the least I can offer for someone who brought me back the dearest person in my heart."

It took several moments, but Aragorn was finally rewarded with an answer. Daurir bowed slightly his head and settled himself again on the bed. Aragorn, however, couldn't help noticing that the Elf had saddened.

"Do not force yourself on anything yet," he said, remembering Elrond's words. "I merely suggested an option to consider as soon as you are fully healed. The rest is up to you."

Another quick nod from Daurir gave Aragorn the sign that he understood; _too_ quick a nod. The Elf clearly wanted this conversation to end.

"Well, I will let you be," Aragorn said with a sigh. "Try to get some rest. If you need anything, the healers will be more than happy to help you. I have quite a busy day tomorrow, but I will try to come by at some point of the day, all right?"

Daurir made no attempt to answer. His gaze was now locked stubbornly downwards, while his hands were nervously fumbling the end of his sheet. 

Aragorn caught himself staring at the Elf. That sight seemed familiar for some reason, but why? He shook his head. Of course it was familiar, it was the typical posture of one feeling uncomfortable, he had seen it plenty of times!

"I am sorry," he apologised quickly, rising. "Have a good night." 

And with that, Aragorn walked out.

\---------------------------

Only when he heard the sound of the door closing did Ceranos feel he could breathe again. Yet he still couldn't rid the burden that had settled in his heart. Mahal, what did the Man ask of him? Stay here?

_But why? What am I to do here?!_ He was seriously considering leaving the moment he was strong enough to walk!

He winced at the stinging sensation that still lingered on his shoulder, reminding him of another painful truth he had to face: if he left, where would he go? It was true that he meant to let himself answer the call of Mandos. He could be afraid he would not see his family all he wanted, but he had nobody in this world either; so what difference would it make?

Sighing, Ceranos finally decided he couldn't deny it to himself any longer. He felt tired. Tired of merely accepting anything that fate brought him on his path, thus forcing him to drag on his existence for another day. He wanted to let go and put an end to everything. 

Yet Ceranos caught now himself trying to answer a far more important question: _how_ should it end?

Before he could help it, he recalled the time when he was still running from the soldiers, immediately after the Elven archer had wounded him on the shoulder. He had run all day and night, until he had finally collapsed on the ground, overcome by exhaustion. He hadn't minded the puddle of mud in which he landed, nor indeed his blood flowing out of his injury, turning the unclean water into a sickening brown and crimson blend. He had merely shut his eyes and listened to his heartbeat, sighing a bit as the fast, rhythmic sound was lulling him seductively. And as he still lay there, he had fleetingly wondered if he would be able to dream if he allowed himself to fall asleep there and then. After all, he couldn't even recall the last time that he had any dreams.

Then the same thought that had cut through his very core at that moment pierced his mind again. Falling dead on the ground as an outcast, bereft of friends and kin; falling prey to all scavenging animals or, worse, rotting under the relentless elements of nature; forgotten by everything and everyone. 

A sob escaped his lips and he bit himself for it, struggling to remain quiet and hoping that no one heard. Hedid not want to die like that! Even Lóin didn't die alone; _he_ was with him.

_It does not have to be that way_.

Wondering at that small voice of courage that echoed within him, he caught sight of the night-cloaked city through the window in his room. No, it did not have to be that way. He had gotten himself an identity here, even if it was the Elf that helped the Queen. He wouldn't be forgotten so easily.

_At least, I will get a proper burial when the time comes._

With that last thought, he curled himself on his uninjured side, throwing away the pillows that had been bending his back out of shape all this time, and closed his eyes. In a matter of moments, his emotional weariness had caught up with him and had drifted him off to a dreamless slumber.

TBC...


	10. A Spark Of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Arwen's eyes blinked back into focus when she felt Aragorn stirring beside her. Turning, she wondered to see her husband breathing heavily, his hands turned into fists and his head lolling sideways.

"Aragorn?" 

Yet the Man was still lost in the land of dreams, obviously caught in a nightmare. Arwen pushed herself in a sitting position and brought herself close to her husband.

" _Hervenn nín_ , _echuio_ ,"* she whispered, touching with light fingers Aragorn's face. She didn't permit herself to get surprised at the thin film of sweat that covered her beloved's face.

Aragorn awoke with a small cry, startled and disoriented. His eyes darted at every direction as though looking for something in the darkness; then he saw Arwen, looking at him worriedly. Only then did he start calming himself, heaving a great sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he said softly to Arwen, rubbing the remains of his agitated sleep off his eyes.

Though the Elven-woman smiled a bit, she sobered again at once.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" she asked gently, her fingers now running through the Man's sweat-dampened hair.

Aragorn didn't answer in words. Bringing himself close to his wife, he placed an arm over her form and then rested his head against her chest to listen to the beating of her heart. Arwen accepted him in her embrace, her hands always caressing him soothingly, waiting to hear of the terrible dream that troubled her husband's rest.

"Do you remember when I told you what happened to Amon Sûl? When I was guiding the Hobbits to Rivendell?"

"I do," answered the Elven-woman. "Where the Ringwraiths caught up with you, is it not so?"

Aragorn nodded. "I was there again, yet there was no sign of Frodo or the others this time. I started looking for them, fearing the worst, and soon I found myself in the middle of the ruins of the great tower. There was still nothing to be seen though, so I started shouting the Hobbits' names, one by one; I did not get an answer back. Then my blood ran cold in my veins and, upon turning, I saw one of the Wraiths standing a few feet away from me, his sword already in his hands. He started coming at me, closer by the moment, until I could not take it any longer and so, unsheathing my own sword, I attacked him."

The Man's hands became fists again as he recalled his dream, but Arwen remained silent, letting Aragorn carry on.

"We fought for, what it seemed like, many hours on end, both of us proving an equal match for the other. A storm started brewing over our heads and soon lightning began striking close to us, yet neither of us paid heed to blinding flashes of light. Just when out clash had become most fierce, lightning struck my sword and made it burst into flames. The red tongues didn't harm my hands, but the Wraith quickly stepped back in apparent fright. Seeing my chance, I smote him with every ounce of strength within me with the fiery blade.

"A blood-curdling cry filled the air as the Wraith's robes caught fire in an instant, yet the Wraith itself made no attempt to flee. It simply stood in front of me, writhing, its form becoming more visible as the robes were consumed to ashes, until I was able to say I could see a face, except… I could not. There was only a pair of sea-green eyes in a frame of transparent white, locked on me and revealing nothing but utter sorrow and pain. Valar save me, but… I knew those eyes, Arwen, and the last time I had seen them there was nothing but brilliant life in them! My heart felt like it had stopped beating and everything had come to a standstill. Just when I thought I was losing my mind and I was about to scream, you woke me up."

"Whose eyes did you see?" asked Arwen in a whisper.

It took many moments for Aragorn to finally answer.

"It is of no matter. The last I saw him was seventy years ago." 

"Aragorn, everything we see in our dreams is of importance," insisted the Elven-woman.

"But this dream makes no sense," said the Man, now facing Arwen. "Why would I see such a thing, unless…?" Aragorn froze, his eyes widening. "Unless I am warned against a danger that is yet to come? An evil that will consume everything I care for?"

Arwen shushed him gently by placing two fingers on her beloved's lips.

"My love, not all dreams are glimpses to the future. What danger is yet to come when the worst of evils and everything ill-hearted that was connected to it has already been destroyed?" 

"Then what could be the meaning of it all?"

Arwen sat up, taking Aragorn's hands in her own.

"My father told me this long ago and I am quite certain he told you also, so I will simply remind you of it. Dreams are often the mind's way to express our desires, or things that we fear. Sometimes, however, dreams can also be a way for the mind to sort out any memories and knowledge we gain every day in our lives. And, if there is anything that is troubling us, the mind still tries to find a solution while we are sleeping, using those memories and knowledge and connecting them to a whole, thus forming the dream. It is true that the mind, working in peculiar ways, connects knowledge and memories quite strangely at times, thus giving the dreams the feeling of the bizarre; still the answer is there. All we have to do is discover the hidden meanings within those dreams."

"But how am I supposed to find those answers?" wondered the Man.

"Ah, now we come down to it," said Arwen, sighing a bit with a small smile. "I am afraid that the only way you can find them is if you find what it is that troubles your mind and caused that dream."

Aragorn bowed his head in defeat. He knew that Arwen's words were true, yet it felt that following her advice was easier said than done.

"I will do as you say," he finally said; then looked outside the window. "Arien has arisen. We should see to our tasks of today."

Arwen, however, didn't let Aragorn go. Still holding the Man with one hand, she slightly traced with her fingers of her free hand her beloved's face.

"There is no need to go anywhere for the present," she said softly, her face mere inches away from Aragorn's. "The servants already know their chores and no urgent matters came up that nobody else can see to them." A fleeting kiss teased the Man's lips. "And no one knows we have awoken yet," she added with a rare mischief in her voice, sealing their lips in another, deeper kiss.

Such a tantalizing and clear request was something Aragorn couldn't deny. After letting out a small moan of pleasure at the kiss and wrapping his arms around Arwen's slim waist, he gently laid her down and brought himself so close to his wife that he could feel both their pounding hearts…

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Sire? Are you awake? A rider from Rohan has come, saying that he's from Lord Éomer's escort." 

The couple groaned as quietly as possible in case they were heard.

"The urgent matters caught up with us," said Aragorn wryly as he rose reluctantly off the bed to get dressed. "Make certain the newcomer feels welcome! I will come shortly!" he commanded the servant through the closed door. "And have the rest of you prepared for more visitors! I am certain the scout is here to announce Lord Éomer's arrival in Minas Tirith!"

"Yes, Sire." And the sound of hurried footsteps clearly showed that the servant was gone.

In a matter of moments, Aragorn was ready and, sighing, cast his glance at Arwen. He clearly didn't wish to leave. Rising with a small smile, however, the Elven-woman gave her husband a loving kiss.

"There will be other times," she assured him kindly. "Now go. I will see soon enough."

Aragorn nodded slightly and, after caressing his wife's cheek in affection, he walked out.

\-------------------------

Ceranos woke up and he immediately closed his eyes as the sunlight blinded him. Taking caution, he used his hand as a screen and then dared a peek around. He almost gasped to find himself in a room, but then he remembered: he was in Gondor at the Houses of Healing, where his wound was to be taken care by Lord Elessar's orders.

He slowly sat up, using his strong arm as support while wincing to feel his head heavy and his body sore. It certainly seemed that he woke up more tired than after he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

It was then that his nostrils twitched, catching a faint smell of food in the air. Turning, he was surprised to see that on the nightstand was a tray, a bowl filled with soup and a plate with fruit on it. 

He huffed in dismay. Just how heavily did he sleep that he didn't hear anybody coming in?

_Well done. Now everyone in this place will talk of an Elf's sharp senses and laugh!_

He glanced back at the tray and then checked himself. It was with a sigh that he admitted this, but, though he guessed the soup and the fruit were quite tasty, he didn't wish to eat anything; he simply couldn't bring himself to feel hungry enough for it. 

He instinctively pushed the tray a little further away as though to distance himself from it; then looked around again. He was getting more restless by the minute and he wished to do something about it. Staying within these four walls, powerless, felt too much like Rhûn now. Did he have the strength to get off the bed though? 

_There is only one way to find out._

He placed one foot on the floor, then the other. He didn't let himself be daunted by the feeling of the cold marble on his naked flesh and, once he got used to that slight chill, he stood up. Seeing that he managed to do that, Ceranos then targeted the chair with a set of clothes on it close by, wishing to see if he now had the vigour to walk. Being extra careful, he walked up to the chair, happy to see that things were not as difficult as he feared at first. By all means he felt far from healthy, but at least part of his strength had returned, an encouraging thought. 

Pleased with himself, Ceranos decided to become a bit bolder. After all, if he was to stay here as Lord Elessar had suggested to him, he had to learn a thing or two about the place firsthand. He would venture out of the room and have a look around to see anything that there could be worth seeing.

There was a snag in his plan, however. Ceranos was almost certain that the healers would never allow him to go too far away, not while he was still recovering. They would return him in the room the instant they saw him.

_Do not let yourself be seen then_.

He reached for the clothes. There was a shirt, a pair of leggings and boots.

_They will suffice_ , thought the Elf with a shrug and, as soon as he got dressed, he put the pillows and nightclothes under the sheets in such a way that, should anyone come in, he would think Ceranos was still sleeping.

_A deceit, aye, but at least I will be free to explore the place without being missed_. And with that thought in his mind and the resolution burning within his heart, he opened the door; looked to the left and right to see that there was no one in the corridor; and walked out. 

\----------------------

The soft murmur that had been echoing at the Great Hall ceased the moment that the doors opened to reveal Lord Elessar and Queen Arwen in their royal clothing that was reserved for the greatest of occasions and the welcoming of honoured guests. The servants and all the people within watched in admiration at the couple, whispers of comment sounding here and there. 

Yet no one could realise that, behind the grace that Aragorn and Arwen displayed, there was great anxiety within their hearts. The scout had announced to Lord Elessar that Éomer's escort was only an hour's ride away from Minas Tirith, and so all appropriate preparations had to be done in quite a short notice. What was worse, the guests were, for some reason or other, delayed.

"I am sorry, Arwen," Aragorn whispered so softly that only his wife heard him.

"Whatever for?" Arwen asked in the same tone, clearly puzzled.

"For not welcoming your father as it was fit to the Lord of Imladris. Now these arrangements for Éomer's sake make me feel uncomfortable."

"You welcomed him as a son welcomes his father," Arwen said with a small smile. "Moreover, I am quite certain that he understood it could not be helped. You have told him about Daurir, have you not?" 

"Yes, and I believe that you have spoken to your brothers as well. I overheard them conversing with Legolas and Gimli as we were heading here." 

"They cannot help but feel curious, like all of us. They even expressed their wish to meet him once he is a bit stronger."

"That will be arranged in due time," Aragorn said. 

It was then that the Great Doors opened and one of the guards declared in a loud clear voice, "Éomer King, ruler of Rohan, home of the Horse-lords, and his wife, Queen Lothíriel."

The guard had barely finished his sentence when the King and Queen of Rohan walked in, causing everyone to stare in awe. Though Éomer came from blood of less greatness than those of Gondor, the last remnant of the Númenóreans, he nevertheless walked with a pride and strength that could be seen in few people; whereas Lothíriel's graceful and fair countenance reflected clearly her own Elven heritage, characteristic of all the people of Dol Amroth. 

"Welcome, friend Éomer and ally of these lands," said Aragorn, rising in a formal greeting. "Your presence here honours us all and I hope that your stay will be pleasant in such joyful an occasion."

"The honour is mine, my friend and ally," answered Éomer, bowing. 

Aragorn, however, clasped his hand on Éomer's shoulder, thus stopping him. 

"You need not bow to a friend," he said. "Though it has been a long time since we have last met, our bonds of allegiance have not worn down." 

"No, they have not indeed." Éomer smiled. "But I should still apologise for my delay. One of my horse's petals loosened on our way here and we had to slacken our pace so I would not discomfort it."

"I will have the blacksmith look into the matter, do not fret," Aragorn assured Éomer, his eyes flashing to the direction of his head-servant. With a nod of acknowledgment, the latter rushed to carry out his lord's silent command. "And is everything well in the land of Rohan?" He couldn't help noticing that Éomer's skin around the eyes was a bit discoloured.

"They are now," the young king answered, sensing Aragorn's curiosity. "I will tell you the tale some time if you wish it."

Aragorn nodded. "You can speak of it during luncheon. The table must have already been set and I am certain that both you and your wife must be too weary from the journey to keep you standing for long."

"Thank you, my friend." Éomer's smile broadened.

Smiling back and with a wave of his hand, Aragorn dismissed everyone in the court; then took Arwen by the hand to escort her and the newcomers to the dining hall. At that moment, however, a healer burst through the door and approached his lord, agitated.

"My Lord, the Elf you asked us to attend to," he panted in an attempt to speak and catch his breath at the same time. "He is gone."

Aragorn and Arwen exchanged a glance full of worry.

"Have you not looked for him?" Arwen asked the healer.

"We have, my Lady. He's nowhere in the Houses of Healing though!" answered the healer, distressed.

"Then try searching everywhere else," said Aragorn, "Even out in the streets if it is necessary. He cannot have gone too far away in his condition. Once you locate him and he is safe back into his room, let me know."

"Yes, my Lord." And with that, the healer hurried out again.

It was now Éomer's turn to look at Aragorn puzzled. "Is something amiss?" 

"It seems I have my own tale to tell you, my friend," Aragorn answered with a smirk. "Let us go to the dining hall."

TBC…

**Footnotes:**

***** _Hervenn nín_ , _echuio_ : My husband, awake. (Sindarin) 


	11. Fire!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Ceranos smiled inwardly as another one of the servants passed by him without taking any notice of him. It seemed that everyone was too absorbed on his own duties to pay attention to a wanderer in the halls, no matter how wan his face was or how tiredly he walked. Moreover, Ceranos discovered something intriguing considering his hair. Though _he_ thought of it quite short, it was of the same length as a Gondorian's was. And, if he placed his strands in a way that it covered his leaf-shaped ears, he could pass as one of them. Pleased with himself, he decided to use this to his advantage and so walked in every inch of the palace, observing the people and taking in any information he wanted. 

He never expected it, but he liked what he saw. He had feared to discover that life was no different than in Rhûn, yet the city and its people seemed prosperous and, more importantly, peaceful. In fact, he could picture himself living here and be content. 

_Yet what am I to do here?_

That thought landed him again into harsh reality. What kind of service was he to offer to a city of Men? If he had learned anything well, it was that no one offered anything without expecting something in return. Lord Elessar's offer could not possibly be an exception; so what could the king possibly want from him? Could it be his experience as a warrior? Ceranos shook his head, smiling grimly. Minas Tirith had more than enough soldiers; one more wouldn't make the difference. Even if Elessar wished him indeed to stay for that reason, Ceranos would have to decline. He had grown tired of fighting.

A flash of green made him turn and look through the window he was now passing by. He leant against the frame, admiring the beauty of the garden that stretched in front of him; he couldn't even remember the last time that he had seen anything so beautiful. As he still looked outside, he was surprised to feel the cold in his skin crawling away and his muscles tingling to life. Before he could help himself, he had sat on the frame with stretched arms and legs and his eyes closed, savouring the warmth of the sunrays as they showered him dotingly. Sighing, he let himself be lulled almost to sleep by the rustling of the leaves and the sharp chirping of the birds.

Then the sound of talking made his ears twitch. He snapped his eyes open and, sitting up once more, he listened intently at the direction of the garden. It was then that he saw them: the blond Elf-archer and the Dwarf, and they were not alone. Two other Elves, dark-haired, were accompanying them. 

Ceranos's first thought was to leave before he was being noticed; only to see that he couldn't – or rather, he didn't want to leave. His eyes locked onto the Dwarf and one of the black-haired Elves as they now stood side by side and conversing with many a jest. He bit his lower lip as the thought occurred to him: the Dwarf looked very much like Náin, whereas the Elf looked too much like…

_Me._

Memories of old pierced his mind, their burden making Ceranos slide down on the floor. He embraced his legs and let his head rest on his knees as he unconsciously contemplated his life again. 

_I am alone._

It was then that a tingling sensation crawled down his spine. Ceranos snapped his head up to see another Elf was standing next to him, merely a few inches away from him. Ceranos almost jumped, startled. Why didn't he sense the Elf approaching him sooner? He hastily started to rise to… greet? Run off? He would decide once he was on his feet again.

Another pang of pain within his heart coursing through him stopped him. Stunned, he collapsed on the floor with a heavy thud, whereas tears sprang up involuntarily as he felt like he was torn in pieces from within. He didn't even have the chance to be ashamed for proving such a poor sight to the Elf. All he could do was clench his jaw, keep himself completely still and breathe heavily in an attempt to ease such a crisis. He couldn't even afford to flinch as a pair of hands caught him gently, helping him up to a sitting position.

" _Sedho, erneth_."*

Ceranos found himself obeying to the softly spoken command and suffering the aid given. A warm hand held firmly the back of his head, whereas the other rested against his chest, close to his heart. In a matter of moments, sweet, familiar warmth resided and the pain was gone. Relieved, his eyes locked on the Elf's grey ones.

"You are welcome," the Elf said always in the Elven-Tongue, smiling; then his eyes locked on his bandaged shoulder. "Will you tell me who decided you could get out of bed when your body is clearly still on the mend?" 

Ceranos cringed. How was he to explain this? In the end, deciding that the best way was to be honest, he pointed at himself. All the blood in his body rushed to his face, flaring it as he grinned sheepishly. To his surprise, the Elf simply laughed.

"I should have expected this," he said. "May I sit next to you?"

Ceranos's eyes widened with disbelief. _On the floor?!_

"It is best that you did not get up yet, and you can hardly expect me to stoop the whole time I am speaking to you, young one, can you? I am older than I seem," he noted, his lips tugging to a small smile.

After a moment of consideration, Ceranos finally consented. The Elf gathered his robes about him and sat, resting his back against the wall.

"Now, can you tell me why you left your room? Do not fret, I was told of your story and what happened to your voice. Explain things the best you can."

Ceranos was hardly reassured though. Though he was saved the trouble of speaking about things that made him feel uncomfortable, he was still not certain if the Elf would understand him by using gestures. Seeing that he didn't have any other choice though, Ceranos used the appropriate signs slowly and mouthed their meaning.

_I wanted to see the place._

The Elf nodded his understanding. "What you did was rather foolish though. You should have waited till you had gained some more strength and then you could have asked someone to show you Minas Tirith."

There was no rebuke in the Elf's voice, nor anger or annoyance, yet Ceranos still felt guilty for what he had done. He bowed his head so as not to look at the stern face he was certain the Elf had. 

The Elf, however, prodded Daurir to face him once more. 

"That does not mean I do not understand," he said, the same small smile appearing on his lips. "My sons can prove much worse and they are supposed to be knowledgeable to the arts of healing."

_His sons?_ Ceranos's mind strayed to the black-haired Elves he saw only a few moments ago and recalled the family resemblance.

"You know of whom I am talking about then?" asked the Elf.

Ceranos pointed outside, where he could still hear the other three Elves and the Dwarf talking. He couldn't help but wonder at how well he managed to keep a conversation with the elderly Elf. _Am I really so easy to read?_ He didn't know if he should feel happy or embarrassed.

The Elf looked out and his smile broadened.

"Yes, that is them." He beckoned Daurir to look out with him, offering his arm for support. "The one on the left is Elladan and the one on the right is Elrohir," he said, once the young Elf steadied himself. 

Ceranos pointed at them again and traced with his hand his face, mouthing the word 'same'. 

"Of course they are the same, they are twins. That does not mean you cannot tell them apart if you look closely. And if you get to know them, you will realise that their character is rather different. Elrohir is more cautious in his words and actions, whereas Elladan is straightforward and stubborn. Of the two, Elladan was the worst when he was supposed to be healed after some misfortune or other. Once, he had broken his leg and was attacked by Wargs, leaving him in such a weak state that everyone doubted he would recover any time soon. Yet in two days Elrohir was chasing him around the halls to make him stay in bed. It is intriguing how fast an Elf with crutches can move."

Before he realised what was happening, Ceranos felt his lips tugged forcefully upwards and his breath coming out in a series of gasps that, though there was no sound uttered, could still only resemble… laughter! He immediately covered his mouth and stopped, his eyes widening in shock.

The Elf regarded Daurir for several moments and then clasped his hand on his shoulder solemnly.

"Young one, you merely laughed. No wrong ever came out of that. Indeed it is times like these that we are reminded we are alive. Such a gift should be cherished, not regarded as something shameful."

But Ceranos only shook his head. Why should he be reminded he was alive, when he should have perished with his family? If anything, this now seemed an even greater torture.

Again the Elf prodded him to look at him, and he looked deep into his eyes. It was strange but, though the gaze was piercing, Ceranos felt he could trust this Elf. There was a kindness within those grey eyes that he had yet to see in anyone.

"There is no clear answer to the questions you seek," the Elf said then softly, clearly seeing through Ceranos's anguish. "I could easily say that it is a way for the Valar to test us, yet it would not be true. The Valar have always loved the Firstborn, and when one loves he does not make his beloved suffer. They can, however, lighten our path and give us strength when our faith is swaying and ready to crumble – especially in war, where not even another one's life is respected as something sacred. As to why it is that some of us seem to be chosen for that kind of burden while others die, I can only answer from my own experience, though the answer can differ in each and every person. Whoever survives, for good or for evil, means he has something yet to offer in this world, and he has to find what that is in order to honour those who have completed their circle in life with their death. Do you understand, young one?"

Though Ceranos nodded, it was clear that he wasn't certain of what he was told. He had lost himself in thought in an attempt to ponder on this, when footsteps echoed down the hallway. He swallowed hard. Were they looking for him?

"Do not fret, I know who they are," said the Elf. "Elladan! Elrohir! Come here a moment, please, and bring Legolas and Gimli with you!" He pretended not to notice Ceranos signing to him frantically to keep his voice down, and he simply stepped aside when Ceranos tried to hide behind him. 

Soon enough, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli had arrived.

\----------------

"You called for us, father?" asked Elladan in the Common-tongue so Gimli could understand as well; then his eyes locked on the short-haired Elf who was doing his best to look away, as though thinking that, if he didn't pay any attention to the newcomers, they wouldn't notice him either. "Is that who I think it is?" he exclaimed. 

Elrohir approached, his curiosity evident in his eyes; then extended his arm. "Hello. Estel told us of you and we have been meaning to make your acquaintance."

Daurir looked at the hand stretched in Elven greeting, clearly indecisive since he didn't understand why would anyone wish to make his acquaintance. In the end, however, obviously realising that the least he could do was return the courtesy, he imitated the greeting, his eyes always on the twins; then repeated it towards the blond archer, even though more stiffly.

"I am sorry for your injury," Legolas said, understanding the reason for this. "I had to protect my friends." 

Daurir nodded and raised his hand in peace, mouthing with a small reassuring smile the word _I understand_. Lastly, Daurir approached Gimli, who was waiting rather uncomfortably a little further away, and bowed low in the customary manner of the Dwarves. 

Everyone stared in amazement, for clearly none of them expected Daurir to accept a Dwarf's presence without so much as a second thought. "You're acquainted with Dwarves," Gimli faltered, just as dumbfounded. 

"It seems that our acquaintance has more in him than meets the eye," commented Elrond, his gaze locked on Daurir thoughtfully. "Stay with him, all of you, and keep him company. Meanwhile, I will go tell the healers I have found their missing patient."

"As you wish, Father," said Elrohir. 

"It will be good to get acquainted with him, Lord Elrond," said Legolas courteously.

\-----------------

At once Ceranos felt like stunned. He had been conversing all this time with Elrond Half-Elven? The same one who raised Aragorn, the only Man Ceranos had come to consider a friend? _What is he doing here, of all places?!_ Before he realised what he was doing and his curiosity proving stronger than courtesy towards as Elf so powerful, he had caught Elrond by the arm and tried his best to show him that he wanted him to stay. Ceranos meant to ask him so many things, he didn't even know from where to begin!

Elrond, however, only smiled as he released himself gently from his grip. "It has to be done, young one. The healers have every right to know where you are and then decide whether they should let you be or return you to your bed. Farewell for the present." And with no other word, he left.

"Do not worry," Elladan said encouragingly as Ceranos kept shaking his head. "Father will see to it that you can stay with us a little while longer."

Ceranos huffed, frustrated. He wasn't concerned about the healers anymore, didn't any of them understand? He wanted to learn tidings about Aragorn, even if it meant to confirm what he had been suspecting: that, bound by the fate of his race, Aragorn was long gone.

_Control yourself! You will be with his sons, so you can ask them._ Taking heart, Ceranos finally nodded his defeat.

"I do not see why we should stay in the corridor," Elrohir said then. "Daurir should not be standing if he can help it." 

Ceranos kept himself from cringing at the sound of the false name. He hadn't been called by any of his new acquaintances thus before, and he was hoping he never would. 

"But where should we go?" asked Gimli.

"I suggest we all go to my quarters," said Legolas. "They are the closest, and I even have some extra pieces of parchment that Daurir can use if he wants to tell us anything. If it is all right with him, of course."

"Well, you get to have the final word, Daurir," said Elladan, smiling. "Do you think you can cope with us and keep us company?" 

Ceranos straightened. The way Elladan spoke the last words were as though he was challenging him. Immediately he nodded, wishing to prove himself. 

"Let us go then," Elladan said, smiling meaningfully to the others. He had managed to make Daurir stay with them.

\-------------------

Hundor wiped the sweaty beads of his face and resumed again his work. He was still one of the finest blacksmiths in Minas Tirith, in spite of his old age, and when the manservant told him about King Éomer's horse, he had immediately taken up the task. After all, though he had too much work to do already, what with his apprentice gone to open his own forgery in Emyn Arnen, he didn't feel he should deny working on the hooves of a King's horse. 

Again he threw at himself some cold water to cool himself. He had been working since dawn, and the furnace had been making the heat in the room unbearable for quite some time now. It couldn't be helped though. He didn't have much time in his hands if he wanted to catch up with all the work he had planned on doing today, so he used the bellows to make the fire in the furnace even stronger to melt the iron more quickly; whereas in the meantime he tapped and scraped another long piece of iron in the shape of a sword meant for a young squire.

He rubbed his forehead again as he noticed dismayed that for some reason he couldn't concentrate on his work. Restlessness settled within him and his breathing came out more difficult now. Instinctively he knew that he should go out and have some fresh air in order to clear his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to put a halt to his work at this time. Gritting his teeth he kept working, until weakness swept through him and made him drop the half-finished sword. 

Only then did he finally admit to himself that he had to stop. He rose, wondering at his light-headedness and nausea; then collapsed on the floor, knocking down everything that was on the table, including a small lantern.

\--------------------

Legolas opened the drawer of his nightstand and, after finally finding what he had been looking for, took the piece of paper and placed it on the table, next to Daurir.

"Here is also a pen and some ink," he added, handing the items to the shorthaired Elf. "I hope they will suit you."

Daurir didn't make any attempt to answer at once, something that surprised the rest of the Elves and Gimli. They all watched in wonder as Daurir felt the pen in his hands almost reverently; then, gripping the pen in his fingers so gently that it seemed he was afraid to break something precious, he wrote with a clear, handsome writing:

_Thank you. It writes wonderfully._

Legolas couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "It is my father's. He gave it to me in order to write to him of tidings whenever I have the chance."

"It was not always _your_ father's though, if my memory does not deceive me," Elladan noted, his gaze locked on the pen.

Legolas laughed. "No, your memory still serves you well. It was indeed Lord Elrond's. He gave it to my father as a token of friendship."

"I remember. It was a return gift for the bow Lord Thranduil had sent to Rivendell. It is good to see that you still have it with you intact – unlike us, because of someone I know." Elladan glared at his twin.

Elrohir's own glare, however, easily matched his brother's. "I have already apologised enough times for it!"

"Yes – seventy years ago; whereas you broke it on the day of our coming of age!"

Legolas's couldn't help but laugh again. "You do not intend on letting this matter rest, do you?"

"No!" cried both Elladan and Elrohir, one with indignation and the other with stoic patience.

"Legolas."

All three Elves turned at Gimli, since they all noted the urgency in the Dwarf's voice. Gimli handed the piece of parchment to them.

"Daurir asked me if you are indeed the son of the King of Mirkwood Forest. When I said yes, this is what he wrote."

Legolas read the parchment; then looked with surprise at Daurir. Without much thought, he gave it to the twins and, as they still read, he sat next to the shorthaired Elf. The twins also raised an eyebrow at what they saw.

_If I was rude before, my apologies. I did not know I was speaking with the son of an Elf who only struck me as honourable and noble when I met him._

"How did you come to know my father?" asked Legolas, his gaze locked on Daurir. "The only explanation I can give is that you served him, yet your features do not mark a Woodland Elf."

Daurir beckoned Elladan to hand him the piece of parchment, so he could write again.

_I met him once, not long ago._

"When?" asked Legolas again.

_During the War._

That was all he wrote; his writing was become noticeably shaky. And everyone saw that Daurir's jaw had clenched tightly.

"I apologise, Daurir; I should have realised this conversation would make you uncomfortable."

_Do not call me like that._

Daurir faced Legolas, and the desperate pleading reflected in the dark eyes made Legolas's heart wrench with sympathy. He looked at the twins and Gimli for some help.

Knowing what to do, Elladan found a blanket and placed it over Daurir's shoulders to offer comforting and soothing warmth.

"What do you wish us to call you?" he asked, using his healing skill to rub some of the tension off Daurir's back.

"Or, even better, what is your real name?" asked Gimli expectantly.

Daurir's eyes darted to Gimli and he remained gazing at him for several moments, his expression pained. Yet it was clear that he was in the brink of finally revealing his secret, so Elrohir placed his hand over Daurir's and squeezed it gently in encouragement.

"Gimli is right. Since Daurir must be a name given to you in hatred and fear, we should call you by a name that can only show you our friendship. What more suitable name then than the name your parents gave you?"

Daurir pondered on Elrohir's words for a while. Finally, his eyes shining with determination, he gripped the pen again and dived it into the ink. He was about to wipe off the excess ink and write, when suddenly cries filled the air.

"Fire at the forgery!"

Everyone rushed at the window and saw the black smoke rising in the courtyard. A series of neighs filled the air.

"The stables are near!" exclaimed Elrohir.

"There is no time to lose then! Hurry!" Legolas jumped out of the window and landed on the roof a few feet below; then jumped on the ground with the natural ease of a cat. Elladan and Elrohir followed his example and they were soon on the ground as well, hurrying towards the burning forgery.

"The long way around for me then," muttered Gimli as he burst out of the room. 

He didn't see Daurir still standing by the window, his body rigid and his hands grabbing the window frame, struggling to decide.

\---------------

Arod was the first to be guided out of the stables, followed soon by Elladan and Elrohir's horses. Tethering them at a safe distance, Legolas and the twins went back into the stables and finally got all the horses out. They had started helping the men to put out the fire, when Aragorn appeared running still in his official clothing, followed closely behind by Gimli and Éomer.

"Is anyone inside?" he cried, seeing the forgery wrapped in flames, just as the head servant had told him.

"We cannot tell, my Lord; there is too much smoke!" answered Iorlas, his face sweating as he carried another bucket of water.

"Then one of _us_ has to go!" said Legolas. "I can see through the smoke."

"So can I," said Elladan. "We will both go."

"Are you both mad?" cried Éomer. "If the smoke will not blind you, the heat will kill you."

Gimli nodded. "And the furnace will not help matters."

"So we have to be swift," said Legolas. "Throw some water over us."

Gimli didn't do anything, clearly indecisive; then got ready to empty the bucket on Legolas and Elladan.

"Wait! Look!" shouted Aragorn.

Everybody turned and saw it, too: a tall form, using a wet blanket as cover, was carrying on his back the body of Hundor. His legs almost buckled at the weight, it was obvious that the burden was becoming too difficult for him to handle; yet Daurir still pressed on. Everyone watched with bated breath as Daurir took one forced step after another. He could be seen clearly now. A couple of steps more and he would be outside.

It was then that the roof collapsed and the two forms vanished beneath the falling debris.

As though strung and knowing there was not time to be wasted when two people were to be saved, everyone snapped into action once again. While most of the people were throwing water, Aragorn, Legolas, Elladan and Éomer rushed inside. In a matter of moments, all four were out again, dragging Daurir and Hundor and laying them on the ground.

"Are they alive?" Éomer asked worriedly.

"Hundor is breathing," answered Aragorn with relief. He turned to a couple of soldiers nearby. "Take him to the Houses of Healing." The soldiers obeyed, and Aragorn turned then to Daurir to see how he was faring.

The sight shocked him. The shorthaired Elf had curled to a ball on his side, rocking back and forth, his arms covering his face as though he was shielding himself. And though Elladan did his best to calm him, Aragorn could see the horror in Daurir's eyes as they stared into the void.

TBC…

**Footnotes:**

* _Sedho, erneth_ : Hold still, young one (Sindarin)


	12. Of Deductions and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

"Will you stay with him, Estel?"

"Someone has to and I would prefer it to be me. I want to talk to him for a while."

Elladan nodded thoughtfully. "I do not think I need to tell you not to tire him out."

"Do not fret, I know what to do. I have been taught well, remember?" answered Aragorn. "Can you please do me a favour though? The forgery will have to be repaired but I cannot supervise the workers while I am here."

"You did not have to ask," said Elladan. "Gimli has already offered his craftsmanship skills, and the rest of us are going to help him. As for the preparations for the banquet," he continued on before Aragorn had the chance to speak, "Father and Arwen will take care of everything. Even Éomer and Lothíriel offered to help."

Aragorn couldn't help but smile. "Thank you."

Elladan smiled back for a moment; then he motioned his head toward Daurir, who was lying on his bed several feet away from them. "I only hope you will be able to get through to him. The shock was great and the herbs can do that much," he said solemnly.

"I will do all that I can," Aragorn assured him.

"I know you will." And with that, Elladan walked out.

Sighing a bit and aware that he was faced with a difficult task, Aragorn walked up to Daurir's side and sat on a chair nearby. The shorthaired Elf had curled into a ball again and was hugging himself, yet his eyes were locked on Aragorn, watching his every move.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Daurir only shrugged a bit.

"It was a brave thing, what you tried to do. It also set me thinking." 

Daurir raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but Aragorn chose to ignore it for the present. He planned to speak his mind and Daurir's defences would not stop him.

"You see, I thought of it strange that you were willing to help Arwen, but I reasoned that she was your kin and so more worthy of trust into your eyes. And when Arwen told me of the girl you looked after all this time since your captivity, I believed that you simply understood her pain, being a former slave yourself. Just an hour ago, however, you were ready to save a Man, risking your very life. Not to mention the fact you had your chance to escape today, yet I was told that you simply roamed around the place. How is that possible?"

Daurir's eyes flashed with anger and he rolled on his other side, turning his back on Aragorn.

"You lost your voice, not your hearing; so you will listen to what I have to say," Aragorn said, trying not to sound too harsh. "Arwen told me you were simply not _blinded_ by your hate to think everyone was to blame for what happened to you. But now I know there is more to it." Yes, Aragorn knew. Elrond tried to tell him before, yet only now he could understand. "You still believe there is good in this world and that it is worth fighting for it. You are still a warrior above all else." Aragorn cursed mentally for not being able to see Daurir's expression. "Your captors tried to take that from you. They tried to take away your humanity, your honour and your kindness, but you never let them. You buried those feelings inside and kept them safe until you would be free again."

Aragorn paused, hoping that he could get a reaction from Daurir this time. It was to no avail. So, he breathed deeply as though ready to take the big plunge in the truth he was about to utter. "There lied the problem though. When you were finally free, you were too afraid to reclaim them. The world seemed too hostile and you did not wish to show anything that could be regarded as weakness."

Only then did Daurir turn to face Aragorn, piercing him with his glare and making his thought clear for the Man to see. _Are you calling me a coward?_

"No… Pained," Aragorn answered, his heart wrenching in compassion as the dark eyes locked on his. "You are afraid to die, that much is obvious; yet you are also afraid to live. It is true you will not get hurt by others again in this way, but it aches you the more that you are alone. Especially after your nephew, apparently the last member of your family, died." He watched Daurir's face slowly changing as the hard features of anger ebbed away to be replaced by those of a frightened child. Arwen was right; Daurir _was_ young. He softened his voice. "Yes, I was told of that too." Before realising what he was doing, he had placed his hand over Daurir's. "My offer stands. You can stay here for as long as you like and perhaps look upon Minas Tirith as your home one day."

Daurir didn't do anything for a couple of moments; then locked his gaze on Aragorn's, almost piercing him. 

_Why?_

The Man looked at the Elf, dumbfounded at what he saw the lips mouthing.

"What do you mean?"

Daurir took out from his shirt a piece of paper from his shirt and then looked around, biting his lower lip in frustration. Aragorn understood. Calling out to one of the healers, he asked for a pen and some ink, which was handed to him at once; then gave it in turn to Daurir. 

_Why do you want me to stay? What service am I to offer to your city? I can only think that you wish me to become a soldier under your command, yet that is the one thing I cannot do for you. I had enough of fighting and I only desire some peace._

Aragorn read the message and put the piece of paper down.

"Making you a soldier was the last thing in my mind."

Daurir's eyes widened at this, and they only widened even more when Aragorn nodded, confirming his words.

"I like to think that you have been in Rhûn long enough to know some important things concerning that realm, such as what has been its political and social situation since I had last been there. The fact that there has been illegal slavery in spite of the treaty I had these people sign, though it surprised me little, it is still disconcerting. It proved to me that there is either not much political force to ensure the treaty is put to use or either enough to oppose it, something that has to be corrected. I want you to be my advisor in such matters in the months that will follow."

Daurir remained staring at Aragorn for many long moments; until, all of a sudden it would seem, he grabbed Aragorn's hand and kissed it respectfully. A genuine smile brightened his features, something that made Aragorn's gape with surprise. Daurir clearly understood something was amiss, for his face etched with worry and quickly wrote again on the piece of paper.

_If I have done something wrong, I apologise._ _I was simply gladdened by such an honourable offer which I accept full heartedly._

Aragorn shook his head, smiling.

"You did nothing wrong. It is just that..." he hesitated. Would Daurir understand him or would he consider him mad? "For a moment, the way you smiled reminded me of someone – a friend."

Daurir's face only betrayed curiosity, something that encouraged Aragorn to speak his mind.

"I do not know why I would make such a thought. Perhaps because, whenever I look into your eyes, I see part of his strength in you."

At such words, Daurir shook sadly his head. 

_Then kindly take a closer look next time, for I do not think there is such a thing within me._

Aragorn smiled kindly and, before realising it, he had clasped his hand on Daurir's shoulders, a gesture that the short-haired Elf didn't mind this time.

"You endured everything to protect your nephew at all costs. That makes you strong in my book."

Daurir lowered his gaze mournfully. _He still died._

"You kept him alive long enough to taste freedom again, even if only for so little. What better comfort could you possibly offer him?"

_It was already little and it became even less._

"What do you mean?" asked Aragorn, not understanding what Daurir wrote.

But Daurir couldn't bring himself to answer. Merely sighing, he arose and walked towards the window. He remained looking outside in silence while all Aragorn could do was watch him, bewildered, hoping that Daurir would make things clearer to him. In the end, however, Aragorn was forced to shake his head in defeat. 

It was then that he saw it: the tray of food, still on the nightstand, forgotten. He turned and looked agape at the Elven form. He didn't eat _anything_?

"How can you still stand on your feet?" he exclaimed before he could help himself.

Daurir turned, surprised, and his eyes caught sight of the tray and Aragorn's shocked face. He shrugged, then shook his head and made a gesture at his stomach. _I am not hungry._

That was something that Aragorn found unacceptable.

"This will not do and you know it! The Elven race is strong, but it can only withstand that much. When was the last time you have eaten properly? Answer truthfully!"

Daurir frowned and didn't attempt to answer anything. Aragorn thought at first that the Elf was merely getting cross with him, but he soon realised what was the problem.

"You do not remember." 

Daurir bowed his head. That was enough answer.

"Very well," said Aragorn, rolling up his sleeves. "You will eat everything that is on this tray!"

Daurir looked incredulously at Aragorn, who had grabbed the soup-filled plate and the spoon near it. 

"Take it," he said, "and start eating."

Daurir was certainly getting cross now. He glowered at Aragorn and mouthed clearly: _I do not need a nursemaid!_

"Then take the spoon and the bowl, otherwise I will feed you like I was truly one!" answered Aragorn, his glare matching Daurir's. 

All Daurir did, however, was stare back, and both Elf and Man remained like this for many long moments, their wills contesting. Suddenly the least expected thing happened: Daurir stifled a grin and shook his head. Before Aragorn could understand what the meaning of this was, Daurir had taken the bowl from his grasp and sat by the table. Aragorn finally understood.

"Our argument _was_ ridiculous, was it not?" he said, his lips tugging to a smile.

The Elf nodded, answering with a smile of his own; then snapped together his fingers and pointed at the paper and the pen. Guessing that Daurir meant to write something, Aragorn quickly placed everything near the Elf and waited. 

_This time it was *you* who reminded me of a friend. You are as stubborn as he was._

"I take that as a compliment," said Aragorn with a grin.

Daurir made a face that clearly meant "Of course you do", and then ate a spoonful of soup. The moment he tasted it, his eyes half-closed dreamily and he quickly had a second spoonful. In a matter of minutes, the soup had disappeared into Daurir's stomach, and Aragorn grinned broadly as Daurir accidentally let out a sonorous belch. The Elf's face turned red at once and he hid himself in his hands in embarrassment. 

That undid Aragorn. Before he could help it, he started laughing loud and clear – something that only made Daurir's face even redder. 

"I am sorry," Aragorn said, after finally he was able to control somewhat his mirth. "It was unexpected, especially from an Elf." He sighed a bit and looked at Daurir kindly. "I take it you were hungrier than you believed then?" 

Daurir nodded, always crimson-faced; then accepted the fruit Aragorn offered him. Soon enough, they were consumed as well, and Daurir bowed his head slightly, thus signing his thanks to the Man. 

"You are welcome," answered Aragorn with a grin. 

Yet his humour died down when Daurir tried to put the bowl back onto the tray and dropped it, hissing in dismay - the Elf had tried to put it back into their place using his injured arm.

"You should not have done that," Aragorn said at once, picking up the bowl. "Though your wound did not open again when you tried to save Hundor, the muscles still suffered badly. Use only your right arm for any tasks for a couple of days if you can help it."

Daurir nodded slightly his understanding and mouthed, "My apologies." 

"It is quite all right."

Yet it turned out that Daurir wasn't apologising merely for the bowl. Writing swiftly on the piece of paper, he gave it to Aragorn to read.

_I heard you and Elladan talking. You are the king of Minas Tirith and yet you are here instead of looking after far more important matters._

"Since we both know that it is no mere illness that ails you, looking after you is also an important matter to me,"reasoned Aragorn.

_It should still not outweigh the needs of your people_. 

"My people will understand when they learn that I see to the welfare of the Elf that delivered their Queen safely back to Minas Tirith; not to mention and almost injured himself in his attempt to save a blacksmith from a blazing fire."

Surprisingly, Daurir's eyes widened. _Blacksmith?_ He scribbled hastily.

Aragorn nodded, though he was still puzzled by that sudden interest. "Yes, Hundor is a blacksmith; one of the finest ones, in fact. Unfortunately, his age doesn't permit him to carry on with this line of work; it needs much strength which he doesn't have anymore. I will have to ask him if he can think of anyone in the City that can replace him." Aragorn could have sworn that he noticed a spark of excitement in Daurir's dark depths; a spark that didn't fade away when suddenly Daurir yawned broadly. Aragorn smiled a bit at the sight.

"I think we should carry on this conversation some other time," he said, arising. "I should let you have some rest."

Daurir bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement and walked up to the bed. However, to Aragorn utter surprise, Daurir didn't lie down there. He merely took the blanket and a pillow and settled himself on the floor.

"You cannot be serious!" he exclaimed, dumbfounded.

All Daurir did was wave his hand in what it seemed like assurance that everything was all right. Still, Aragorn couldn't understand it; that is, until realisation dawned on him.

"You have got used to it."

Daurir nodded a bit; then, sighing a bit, he made himself comfortable. Before sleep would claim him, Aragorn said softly close to him that he would make sure more food was brought in his room and he would visit him again in the evening.

Daurir blinked a bit to show his understanding. The last thing he saw before sleep caught up with him was Aragorn walking out of the door.

TBC...


	13. Spirit Rekindled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Early in the morning, the first thing Aragorn did was tell a servant to serve breakfast at the great Hall; he was certain that his guests would be hungry. He regretted that he couldn't join them from the start so they could see what arrangements were to be done for today, but his wish to see how Daurir was faring proved stronger. Accompanied by another servant who was holding a tray of food for the Elf, he quickly walked down to the corridors that led to the Houses of Healing and to Daurir's room.

"Daurir?" said Aragorn, knocking at the door. 

As his knuckles made contact on the door, however, it slid further with a creaking sound to reveal no one was inside. 

Gasping, Aragorn quickly rushed in and looked around. The room seemed tidied up; the nightclothes were neatly folded on the chair and the blanket was placed back on the bed. Passing swiftly by the puzzled servant, he called at a healer.

"Have you seen the patient of this room?" he asked anxiously.

The healer stared at his king for a moment incredulously. "He has left again?" he exclaimed before he could help himself.

Aragorn huffed in dismay. He had got his answer. What was worse, he couldn't afford to lose any time trying to look for Daurir now. He had heard news of Gandalf and the Hobbits approaching to Minas Tirith, whereas Faramir and Éowyn were also coming from Ithilien and both parties were expected at the same day – _today_.

"Well, he is gone," he finally declared; "but I do not think there is need of worry. We can allow him to go where he pleases this time. Make sure that you keep an eye for him though." 

"It will be done as you say, Sire," said the healer.

Nodding and feeling slightly reassured, Aragorn walked to the Great Hall, where he knew he was being expected.

\------------------

After having breakfast and expressing his wish to accompany Lady Arwen on her way to meet Faramir and Éowyn, Éomer swiftly went down the flight of stairs and found himself out into the courtyard. Aragorn had also assured him that, since there was no time to fix his horse's hooves the previous day, he could take any other horse he wished from the already repaired stable. 

What the king of Rohan didn't expect, however, was to see his horse tethered by the forgery. And his surprise only became greater when he looked at the stallion's hooves and discovered that it had brand new petals. 

It was then that the sound of bellows puffing and the banging of metals echoed from inside the building. The forgery was operating! 

"Gimli," he murmured softly, understanding who could be inside. He patted the horse's neck with a smile, receiving a small nuzzling in return; then walked inside.

"Gimli!" Éomer shouted over the sound of the banging. "Gimli!"

He received no answer. It didn't surprise Éomer though. After all, the raucous was so great that he couldn't possibly be heard. Still, Éomer wanted to say his thanks to the Dwarf.

"Thank you for taking care of my horse, master Dwarf!" 

This time the answer was a series of clanks as a hammer struck iron. Éomer couldn't help but smile. When Dwarves worked, they certainly hardly paid attention to anything else.

"Just do not forget yourself working! You said you and Legolas wanted to see Faramir and Éowyn, too!" Éomer added amused; then walked out to saddle his horse.

He never saw Daurir coming from the inner room of the forgery, his hands and face blackened, looking puzzled for he was certain he heard somebody calling; nor did he see him shrugging his shoulders and returning back to his task. 

\---------------------

Brego snorted loudly in impatience and Aragorn patted his neck, shushing him gently. 

"I see he would rather gallop through the plains then hold still," commented Elrond with a small smile. "This waiting outside the walls has tired him."

"He is a horse of Rohan," Aragorn replied with a sense of pride. He looked at the horizon. "I hope Shadowfax doesn't let his own impatience run away with him and rides ahead of the Hobbits."

"Gandalf will make sure of that, do not fret."

Just then, a soldier came riding to Aragorn and Elrond and informed them that Mithrandir and the Halflings are approaching. Just then, a mighty neigh tore through the air and Brego answered it with a neigh of his own. In less than half an hour, Gandalf appeared on Shadowfax and by his side were a pair of ponies, carrying two familiar persons.

"Welcome, Gandalf. Your presence here brings warmth in my heart," greeted Aragorn cordially.

"And ours doesn't?" piped in Merry, raising an eyebrow in mock annoyance.

"Seems we're not needed here, Merry," seconded Pippin, following suit to his cousin's tease. "Well, since we've escorted Gandalf safely, we can as well turn back." And turning his words into action, he turned his pony in a motion of leaving.

Gandalf, Elrond, and Aragorn laughed heartily at this.

"Peregrin Took, you cannot expect me to enter the city without you two at my side, can you?" asked Gandalf.

"Not after the preparations we made for the most special of our guests," said Aragorn.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other meaningfully, then turned to Aragorn.

"After careful consideration with my friend and cousin here," said Merry, "we've decided to accept your apology and come with you."

"However," added Pippin, "we do expect to be welcomed with quite a handsome luncheon as soon as we get to the Great Hall. Though Gandalf can prove a good companion, he still has the unacceptable habit of stopping only once a day for meals during journeys."

"The table is already set, and the food is waiting for you," replied Aragorn with a big grin.

"Then what are we waiting for?" exclaimed Merry, his face brightening. "It's a shame to leave perfectly good food getting spoiled!" 

And with that, both Merry and Pippin urged their ponies onward, while Aragorn, Elrond and Gandalf followed, shaking their heads amused. Soon enough, Elrond and Gandalf had remained behind to share their tidings, whereas Aragorn was riding at the Hobbits' side, hearing tales of what the little ones have been up to ever since they returned to the Shire. As they were headed towards the stables though, Merry and Pippin slackened the ponies' pace and stared at the burned wood in wonder.

"What happened here?" asked Merry in wonder. "Nobody was hurt, I hope?"

"No, be at ease, Merry. It was only a fire which we put under control quickly enough," answered Aragorn. 

Just then, the Man froze and looked at the direction of the forgery. Daurir was entering the building, carrying some wooden boards. Though Aragorn was relieved to find him at last, he couldn't help but wonder at the meaning of this. Was Daurir also willing to help repair the damages at the forgery? But the Man was told everything was in working order!

"Who is that?" asked Pippin, also noticing the busy form and staring at it, puzzled. "He is dressed like one of your men, but he's…"

"An Elf, yes," completed Aragorn. "He's called Daurir. And before you ask the question, Master Merry, I will answer now: none of us know what his real name is or where he is from."

"I thought you would have by now." It was Elrond who said this, overhearing the conversation.

"I am afraid not," said Aragorn, turning to the Half-elf. "However, Legolas is quite certain now that Daurir is not from Mirkwood."

"It is still not enough; there are still many Elven realms to be considered."

"I know," said Aragorn with a sigh. "I only hope he will tell us himself when he feels up to it." And with that he dismounted and, after helping down the Hobbits as well, he accompanied them inside, asking them more news about Sam's wife and her pregnancy – the reason neither Frodo nor Sam would attend this year's festivities.

Gandalf and Elrond didn't follow though. They still remained on their horses, looking at Daurir, who was now examining some bars of metal by flicking a finger on them to listen to their sound. 

_I know what troubles you,_ Gandalf said then to Elrond – without a word coming out of his lips. _His movements; his manners; the way he looks at his surroundings; everything in him makes him different from other Elves you have encountered._

_You can feel it too, then?_ asked Elrond. 

_Only too clearly,_ answered Gandalf. _In fact, I would be so bold to say that he does not remind me of an Elf at all._

Elrond only stared at Gandalf, something that made the Wizard smile. 

_I see I am not the only one who reached the same conclusion,_ he said. 

Suddenly, probably because he sensed he was being watched, Daurir cast a glance towards Gandalf and Elrond and then swiftly walked inside. Gandalf was about to comment, when he noticed that Elrond was looking surprised at something.

_What is the matter?_ asked Gandalf.

_His eyes._

_What of them?_

Elrond didn't answer though. Dismounting, he walked inside, soon to be followed by Gandalf. The Half-elf knew what he saw and that had set him thinking. 

\-------------------

While Aragorn and Elrond were on their way to welcome the new arrivals on the west side of the White City, Arwen, Legolas, Gimli and Éomer were riding outside the east side of the gates in order to meet Faramir and Éowyn. As soon as they stopped and waited for them, Éomer guided his horse close to Arod, the horse on which both Legolas and Gimli were.

"You did an excellent work on my horse's hooves, master Dwarf," he said with a broad smile. "His gait has never been lighter or swifter."

Gimli stared at Éomer, puzzled. "What are you saying?"

"You did not mend these?" Éomer exclaimed, pointing at the horse's petals.

Exchanging a brief glance with Legolas, Gimli dismounted with a jump and tapped the horse's leg lightly, so he could see the petals.

"It is certainly nice handiwork," he finally said, "but I had nothing to do with it."

"What is amiss?" Arwen asked, overhearing the conversation.

"Nothing serious, lady Arwen," answered Éomer, embarrassed. "It was a misunderstanding. My apologies, master Gimli."

"Do not worry about it, my friend," said Gimli kindly. "I am still surprised though. I was under the impression the forgery would not operate until someone replaced the old blacksmith."

"Perhaps someone has been found?" ventured Legolas to say.

Arwen immediately shook her head. "I would have known about it. Nevertheless, I will talk to Aragorn as soon as we return." She lifted her head, pricking her ears. "That was a horse's neigh."

Éomer and Gimli pricked their own ears as well. "I did not hear anything," the King of Rohan said.

"Yet a horse neighed in greeting," confirmed Legolas, helping Gimli up on Arod. 

And indeed, in a matter of moments, Faramir and Éowyn's escort appeared on the horizon.

\----------------------

Ceranos threw the iron bar on the furnace and, while it was getting hot, he put on the table every sword that he could find in the forge and started swinging them one by one to test their balance. Though a couple of them certainly needed a few taps here and there, he decided that most of them were very well-wrought and all he needed to do was sharpen their edges and polish them. He poured some oil in a bowl nearby and, after wetting a piece of cloth with it, he started working. Making sure that he wouldn't miss a spot, he carefully removed any trace of rust and placed each sword against the wall to dry. By the time he had done all that, the iron bar had melted and, grabbing it carefully with a pincer, he poured the hot liquid into the matrix to shape it into a spear. 

Just then, another strange sound accompanying the sound of the bellows and the sizzling of the hot liquid reached his ears.

He was whistling.

_Well, why not?_ he thought, a broad smile tugging his lips.

He walked up to the furnace and looked through the small opening to see how the fire was faring. Seeing that the fire was still burning strongly, he reached for his tools and started hammering again. Pricking up his ears, he listened on to the familiar – and so missed – sound of iron being struck and, soon enough, he held up a fine spear point. 

He felt his chest swelling with pride. He was forging again! Such was his joy, in fact, that he never realised that the discomfort on his left shoulder was gone, or how strong he felt and full of life. All he knew was that he had started working before the crack of dawn and he had still some work left to do – and he wanted to do even more.

_I will have to ask the king to let me inspect the weaponry and the soldiers' swords._ And also tell him that he wished to take care of the forge whenever his duties as advisor permitted it. After all, _this_ was what he did best.

It was then that Ceranos remembered something from the previous day. While he wandered around the place, he had chanced upon a room that he could have sworn it had weapons inside; he recalled something looking like a sword when he glimpsed through the half-open door. Perhaps he could go there and have a closer look?

He thought about it for a few moments, and finally reasoned that, if no one seemed to object to his presence in the forgery, he didn't see why anyone would object to his presence in that room.

Making up his mind, he put out the fire at the furnace and cleaned himself; then hurried back to the halls.

He found the room again quite easily. What made him uneasy, however, was to see that the door was shut now. So the room was off limits to intruders? He reached for the handle, looking to his left and right as he did so, not wishing to be caught in the act of doing something that could be considered wrong; and turned it slowly. Relieved he noticed that the door wasn't locked; so, swallowing hard and with his heart pounding as though he was about to uncover a treasure of unspeakable value, he pushed the door open.

As soon as he stepped in, Ceranos found himself in a room that he somehow knew was filled with history. The drapes were drawn, permitting only partial sunlight inside, thus giving the room the air of something old; a bookcase with a few, yet very dusty and battered books occupied the space on the northern side of the wall; and on the eastern one there was a statue of a Hobbit, clothed in real Orcish armour and clothes. But before Ceranos could wonder why would anyone have such things in a realm of Men, his eyes caught sight of the southern wall. 

Though Ceranos wasn't of the Elves who could appreciate the art of creating something with materials other than metal or precious stones, he couldn't help but stare at the large tapestry that adorned the wall. For what he saw depicted there filled him with wonder and awe. 

It was a battle, a great one at that. Ceranos could distinguish several races with just a brief glance. There were Men of Gondor, bearing the mark of a tree and seven stars on their chest. There were also Men of Rohan, he knew and could recognize the green banner with a galloping white horse on it everywhere. And he was surprised to catch sight of familiar faces in that mayhem, also fighting. He could see the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir (though Ceranos couldn't really tell who was who in the tapestry); Legolas Thranduilion; Gimli; and, lastly, King Elessar. 

Then Ceranos looked at the side of the enemies. He recognised the race of the Orcs instantly, and the sight of a red banner with a black serpent on it meant little to him, though he was aware it belonged to Men of the South. The banner that truly made his blood boil in his veins, however, was the Easterlings' – a black scorpion, sighted so often on those accursed lands, surrounded by yellow, symbol of the desert beyond.

Huffing angrily, he turned his gaze away, and noticed the huge gate on the background. He looked closer, and recognised it for what it was: the Black Gate of the Morannon. The very Gate that led to the land of the Enemy with so many names in every tongue that was ever formed: Gorthaur, Naruzbad, Zigûrun, Dark Lord – Sauron; the one responsible for the accursed War that cost Ceranos his second family and not all.

Ceranos's breathing became shallow and quivering in his attempt to control his emerging wrath and hatred towards the Evil that did this to him; he could feel it. In the end, he punched the tapestry as though trying to throw down the Gate with his own hand, to see it broken and trampled on like he witnessed it on his hard journey back from Rhûn.

Though his knuckles throbbed by the impact his fist made with the wall, he felt better at once. He looked again at his acquaintances and he couldn't help but smile. He no longer just respected them for their courtesy and nobility; he _liked_ them. After all, they had fought against the same evil that he had to face in Erebor, and that alone made him feel connected to them. He hoped they also felt the same way. If anything, he wouldn't be alone then.

He afterwards cast his glance to his right and saw something that lifted his spirits even further: weapons. 

Three of them were swords, all up against the wall in a prominent position. He looked at the first two curiously and immediately shook his head. They were plain swords, without engravings on them.

_Man-made without a doubt,_ Ceranos thought. Of all the races, Men were the ones more likely not to be interested in making something beautiful out of metal. After all, to them it only mattered that the weapon served its purpose. The only redeeming quality that Ceranos could see on those two swords was that their blades were sturdy, if not of the best quality. 

The third one was better made, yet still nothing special about it but for its handle; for it was quite symmetrical and two horse heads were engraved on it, enamelled with gold. _A sword of Rohan to be wielded by a lord,_ decided Ceranos approvingly, and let it rest against the wall reverently. 

Yet the sword that intrigued him to no end was the fourth one. It was a two-handed sword that, though it was forged to resemble the swords of Men, its metal was much lighter in colour and, moreover, its design was old. In spite of that, however, its blade was perfectly clear and untouched by time.

That was Elven work, Ceranos was certain of it. But that was not all. Looking back at the tapestry, he saw the same sword on Elessar's hands, something that made him regard the weapon with a new sense of approval. 

_You served your master well._ He had found more about the particular Man now and it only made him think better of him by the minute. After all, someone with such friendship towards the Elven and Dwarven race, well-versed to the Elven lore and ways and even married to an Elven woman could not possibly be an ordinary Man. More so if one considered the fact that this king of Men seemed to truly care about what would probably seem to anybody else a lost cause and did so without expecting anything in return. That he tried to befriend him, a broken, cynical Elf.

_You are so much like Aragorn, Elessar King_ , thought Ceranos with a small smile. _I will be honoured to offer my services, the same way I would be honoured to serve him, had I the chance._ Which reminded him that he had yet to ask Elrond or his sons about Aragorn.

_No more delays_ , he decided. He would look quickly at the last weapon in the room and then he would try to find any of those three and also a way to ask them. 

The fourth weapon was no sword. In fact, it was the last thing he expected in a city of Men, for it was a double-headed axe, the Dwarves' favoured weapon. Still, its size alone showed that it wasn't meant for a Dwarf at all, something that Ceranos considered odd at first. After all, who but himself would carry such a weapon?

The next instant he was gasping as a terrible suspicion crept in his mind, and he quickly grabbed the axe. Awestruck, he read the Dwarven runes on it: 

_Made by my wielder to slay his foes and mine._

It _was_ his! But how…? 

"Daurir?"

The Elf turned at the sound of the name, to see Elrond at the entrance of the room, followed by his sons.

"Or, should I say," Elrond continued in a soft tone, "Ceranos Orcbane?"

TBC…


	14. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Elrond stepped forward and faced the surprised Elf before him.

"For that is your name, is it not, young one?"

The answer came in the form of a weak nod. _How…?_ asked Ceranos, his widened eyes never leaving Elrond.

"I knew there was something out of place about you from the moment we met," answered he solemnly. "Your face was Elven, yet nothing else was. Much like another Elf that a Man by the name of Aragorn, whom I raised, told me about. Yes, I remember the tale – it is required of me to remember things if I am to be the Lord of Imladris and a healer. In spite of my suspicions, however, I could not determine anything for certain, for your heart could have changed because of your slavery. After all, it would not be the only thing that changed on you – within and without," Elrond's hand reached for Ceranos's short hair, a sad expression on his face. "Then today, finally, I chanced to look into your eyes."

It was then that Elrohir stepped forward as well, holding a mirror in his hand. He placed it before Ceranos's eyes, and all three Half-elves watched him gape in wonder, for the colour of his eyes was no longer black. Though his eyes could still be considered dark, a shade of green was indeed brightening them. 

"To be perfectly honest, however, only when I saw you just now with that axe in your hands I knew who you could be." 

Ceranos didn't attempt any answer. He had remained as though frozen, touching the mirror, then his own face. 

That is, until he turned on his heel and went to the window. 

"It is a strange fate," Elrond said then. "You delivered safely one whom I came to consider a son, and now you delivered safely my daughter."

Though Ceranos didn't turn, the news interested him, because he had pricked up his ears. It was clear that he wasn't aware of this.

"Yes. Arwen Úndomiel, the queen of this realm, is my daughter," Elrond confirmed solemnly. "And I thank you for helping her, Ceranos, though delayed this thanks comes."

Only then did the shorthaired Elf turn, and he was sadly pointing at himself and shaking his head.

"Are you trying to say that you are no longer that Elf?" asked then Elrond, walking up to him and clasping his shoulder. "It is in your hand to become him again, if you truly wish it."

Ceranos heaved a sigh; then he mouthed and signalled his words.

_Everything I knew and loved that defined me as Ceranos Orcbane is no more. Therefore, that Elf is no more either._

"What of Aragorn?" Elrohir then asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ceranos shrugged. _He will only live in my memories. For is he not dead, the blood of his race betraying him?_

The Half-elves looked at each other surprised, and the twins came closer as well. 

"Ceranos," Elladan said slowly, looking into the Elf's eyes. "Aragorn is alive."

Ceranos looked at Elladan incredulously, his shock clear on his face. Clearly it was the last thing he expected to hear.

Elladan cast a brief glance at Elrohir and his father, a sly smile forming on his lips, before facing Ceranos again. 

"I can take you to him."

Though he was still dazed, Ceranos nodded and made a gesture with his hand that clearly signified: _Go ahead. I will follow._ And so both Elladan and Ceranos quickly walked out. 

As soon as the two had disappeared out of sight, Elrohir shook his head.

"I hope Elladan will be careful on how he will tell Ceranos about Aragorn. Ceranos has already learned too many shocking news at so short period of time to bear my brother's love for drama," he said to Elrond with a smirk.

"I do not think there is a reason for worry. If anything, I think Ceranos will be gladdened to see someone he knew from the past," Elrond assured his son with a sad smile. "His heart needs it."

Elrohir nodded a bit solemnly. "It is a sad fate. We all fought the same Evil; we won; and now, every year, we celebrate our victory over it. Yet _he_ was of the defeated and the anniversary of joy is to him an anniversary of sorrow." He looked at the direction that Elladan and Ceranos took. "There is something troubling me though."

"What?"

Elrohir faced his father. "When we were Elflings, you had told us during our tutoring that Dwarves had developed a sign language called Iglishmêk. Is it not possible that the signs he used just now could be that language?" 

"If it is, he must be using very simple gestures so we, who are not of the Dwarven kindred, can understand him," Elrond said. 

"And yet," Elrohir said then, "why did he not use Iglishmêk when Gimli was nearby? He would have been glad to find someone who would be able to converse with, even in such a way. And Gimli would be able to translate the gestures to us."

"Elrohir," Elrond said, "now you are trying to find answers only Ceranos will be able to tell you of. For only he can tell you how apprehensive he must have felt among people that he didn't know, or embarrassed and, yes, even afraid. Gimli is a Dwarf, yet what other reasons did Ceranos have in trusting him? His captivity hurt Ceranos in more ways than it is visible." Both Elves walked out of the room. "Know this, however. I am quite certain that he now regrets that he did not open himself up earlier, and he will try to make amends for it in the days to come. Did you not see his eyes?"

"I did. There was warmth in them when he looked at us."

Elrond smiled to hear the correct answer. "And hopefully this warmth will become friendship through Aragorn, for he will wish to befriend the people who are Aragorn's friends."

"It will be well if that happens. So far my impressions about his person were only good and I would like to befriend him, too. And I am certain Elladan would want that as well."

Elrond placed a shoulder over his son, his smile broadening. "That gladdens my heart. And if Arwen, Legolas, Gimli and all the others think the same way – which I have reasons to believe they do – then Ceranos will never be alone again." 

"I hope so. I truly do."

And they walked towards Aragorn's office, where they knew Elladan and Ceranos were heading.

\------------------

After escorting the Hobbits and Gandalf to their quarters, Aragorn was catching up with some paper work in his office. At the sound of the door creaking open, he lifted his eyes to see Arwen standing at the threshold. Aragorn was about to greet her with a big smile, when he noticed that her expression was quite troubled.

"What is amiss?" he asked, concerned. "Has the party of Faramir and Éowyn not arrived yet?"

"They have arrived," Arwen answered. "They have already been shown to their rooms."

"Then what is the matter?"

Arwen locked her gaze on her husband. "Were you aware that the forge has acquired a blacksmith?"

Aragorn's face must have shown how surprised he was at the question, because Arwen's next words were: "You were not."

"I did not even put up a notification that the court was in need of one! Who could have known? And, more importantly, who would have taken up this task without my permission?"

"Nevertheless, someone mended the petals of Éomer's horse. When I asked, the guards confirmed that they heard banging sounds within the forgery."

"But the only one in there was Daurir," said Aragorn thoughtfully. And now the only logical conclusion that Aragorn could reach was that it was Daurir who operated the forge after all. The Elf had some explaining to do, that was for certain.

Just then, the door opened again and Elladan walked in, followed close behind by the Elf in question. Yet any question that had formed in Aragorn's mind vanished at once, for he saw something that angered him deeply.

"Why do your hands hold a thing that is not yours to claim?" he asked slowly, his eyes locked on the axe that Daurir was holding.

Daurir glared back at Aragorn in disbelief, his hands closing around the axe even more tightly; then he glowered at Elladan. He only mouthed two words. _A_ _jest?_

"No jest," Elladan assured Daurir, a half-smile tugging his lips.

The short-haired Elf looked back at Aragorn; then at Elladan; and, shaking his head, he started walking out. Elladan, however, clasped his hand on Daurir's shoulders, stopping him thus from leaving.

"Elladan, what is the meaning of this?" asked Aragorn, not understanding.

"Look into each other's eyes, and you will both find out. For if I am to simply tell you, you would not believe me."

"Elladan, what are you trying to say?" asked then Arwen.

All Elladan did was prod her a little further away.

"Let them be for a while and you will see," he whispered.

Finally, Aragorn decided to do what Elladan suggested to him, though he felt he wasn't in the mood to play games. He looked at Daurir's eyes, and soon the stare was returned.

It was then that Aragorn noticed it. Daurir looked different for some reason. His stance was more confident and his expression prouder than their last encounter, that was for certain; but that was not all. His lines of care had smoothed further away, thus showing how much younger Daurir was. As for his eyes, they were far brighter, reflecting the life within that was starting to awake once more; the blackness in them was fading. 

Aragorn took a few steps back, wondering at the recovery of the Elf and, more by chance than anything else, his eyes drifted at the axe again.

The realisation almost stunned him.

Daurir was holding the axe with both hands in a manner that resembled Gimli's; in a manner that resembled any Dwarf; in the manner of an Elf who…

"But it cannot be." 

Daurir raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"They told me you had died!" Aragorn exclaimed.

Now it was Daurir's turn to take a few steps back. He was clearly thinking that the Man was going mad.

"Ceranos, it is I. Aragorn."

Daurir stopped immediately, thus giving Aragorn time to prove himself.

"We met two months before Durin's Day, the greatest celebration of the Dwarves; I was travelling to Rivendell and you to Nogrod. We had decided to go through the Mines of Moria because the High Pass was blocked; you saved me when I was captured by Orcs; and when we were about to part, I promised you I would visit you at your homeland." Aragorn cursed inwardly to see Daurir's – no, Ceranos's – expression was unreadable. What more was he supposed to say for Ceranos to believe him?

"Before we parted, you had also asked me as a favour not to watch you go, for you feared that, if I did, we would never see each other again. For two years ever since I was told of your death during the War of the Ring I had thought it ironic that we would _not_ see each other, though it was a favour I granted you. But now…" he faltered and exasperation washed through him. "Why can you not see it?"

The short-haired Elf remained as though frozen, his eyes locked on the Man for many long moments; then walked cautiously to him. His hands reached for Aragorn's face and pushed back the Man's lines of care. And, all of a sudden it would seem, Aragorn felt Ceranos's hands trembling, and the Elf's eyes were widened in shock.

"You see it now, do you not?"

Aragorn had barely finished his sentence when Ceranos had wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Ceranos, I cannot breathe," Aragorn said, yet he was now returning the embrace with a great smile on his lips. Valar, he thought his heart would burst with joy. How could this come to pass? How did Ceranos escape death and was now before him?

Then he felt all joy flee from him, for he then realised how: through pain, torment, humiliation and, above all, grief. So many things were making sense now. Why no one seemed to know where the Elf called Daurir was from; his dream; who was the long gone nephew and the Elf's words of his life being already "too little." And now the tale of that Elf, which turned out to be the tale of someone close in Aragorn's heart, pained the Man the more. 

Aragorn's hands felt the black hair, short as it was; he recalled the Elf's distrust in everything and everyone; his violence and cold-bloodedness; and before he could help it, his mind's eye drifted to other, older memories of an ever-laughing Ceranos, noble and kind-hearted. 

Too late he registered that unshed tears were stinging his eyes, threatening to fall. 

"What did they do to you?" he asked softly, before helping himself.

A talon-like tightening of Ceranos's grip on him, shuddering shoulders against his body frame and a series of choked sobs were the only answer Aragorn got, making the Man's heart contract violently in sorrow. He tried to gently shush his friend; he tried to tell him comforting words that everything would be all right, that he wasn't alone anymore, that he wouldn't be hurt again; that he himself would make sure of that. But nothing except his own sobs came out of his lips and so he stopped trying. The only thing he did as he wept on was notice that Arwen and Elladan were now joined by Elrond and Elrohir, and that their eyes revealed their own bittersweet emotions as they watched the reunion.

\---------------------

That evening, Aragorn excused himself from his guests and didn't join them for dinner. He stayed with Ceranos instead, showing him everything in the Citadel, from halls to weaponry, and from rooms to the courtyard. Though it was true that Ceranos had managed to see most things on his escapes from the Houses of Healing, it seemed that he was willing to look at them once more. On the other hand, as Aragorn soon realized, what truly mattered to Ceranos wasn't where he was going, but that he was with a friend.

Later on, they both went to the Houses of Healing, where Aragorn told the healers that the Elf was strong enough to go to another room, something that was welcomed by the healers. That didn't surprise Aragorn; he was certain that everyone thought that Ceranos was the worst patient they ever had to tend. What surprised him though was to see Ceranos walking toward Ioreth and giving her a small white rose he had picked from the garden before returning to his side again.

When the hour finally grew late, Aragorn accompanied Ceranos to what would be the Elf's room. He watched Ceranos examine the furniture, especially the desk with an ink-bottle and lots of pieces of paper; notice that there was no bed, but a thin mattress on the floor; look out the balcony to see the view; and in the end nod in approval. Aragorn was concerned that it was too meagre a room, but Ceranos made Aragorn understand that it would serve him just fine. To make his point even stronger, he sat on the mattress and drew the blanket over his legs.

Aragorn watched Ceranos settling himself for a few moments, and sat also on the mattress across the Elf. That certainly brought a smile on Ceranos's face, yet it was clear that he wanted to ask Aragorn something – or rather, a lot of things.

Understanding, Aragorn started telling what he did the last seventy years. He began his tale from the time that he returned to Rivendell to see Elladan; he told of his time among the Rangers; then his part on the War of the Ring. And as Aragorn kept talking, he noticed how the Elf's expression kept changing as well: he listened in fascination at the places Aragorn went, his eyes opened wide in wonder at the amazing things the Man had witnessed, he grinned at funny narratives and saddened at tales of the War.

"When I was crowned king, I married Arwen; and now I am here," Aragorn concluded; then sighed and looked at Ceranos. "Then I went to look for you and I was told of your death. They said that they could not even find your body." He winced when he saw the Elf clenching his jaw. "Ceranos, I…"

But Ceranos only placed a finger on Aragorn's lips and mouthed: _I know._

Neither attempted to say anything more at that moment, for they could understand each other even through silence.

It was the sound of a night bird reaching their ears that Man and Elf looked outside the balcony and noticed that the hour grew late.

"I should let you be," said Aragorn. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Ceranos looked at Aragorn questioningly.

"Tomorrow Minas Tirith will hold a celebration for Sauron's defeat. That is why there are so many guests here," Aragorn explained. Yet that was not all that he wanted to say, and Aragorn caught himself uncertain as to how to proceed. "There will also be a great banquet within the Great Hall, to which all the people closest to my heart and who fought alongside me will attend. I would be honoured if you attended as well."

Ceranos was certainly surprised, but Aragorn couldn't determine if his surprise was pleasant or not. 

_I'm not of the people who vanquished Sauron,_ Ceranos mouthed, signals accompanying his words.

"But you are of the people who won their freedom, though belated is that victory," Aragorn said with a small smile. "Please, come. It will mean much, not just to me, but to the rest as well: to those who already made your acquaintance and took a liking to you, and to those who heard about you and wish to make your acquaintance."

Ceranos didn't attempt to answer for many long moments, clearly thinking about what Aragorn had just told him; then nodded. _I will come. For you and the others._

"Thank you," Aragorn said, smiling. "Expect Elladan and Elrohir tomorrow, they will prepare you for the banquet."

Ceranos nodded again and lied down. He was clearly getting tired. 

Understanding, Aragorn arose with the intention of walking out, when suddenly he remembered himself. "By the way, I have something for you." And kneeling beside his friend again, he took out of his pocket a pipe.

Ceranos looked first at the pipe and then at Aragorn, puzzled.

"It was yours," Aragorn said. "You had given it to me as a parting gift, even though you claimed you could not sleep without having a puff of leaf first. Do you wish to have some puffs now?"

Though Ceranos smiled, it was a sad smile that tugged his lips. _No. It is a luxury that I was denied for long and now I have no desire of it._

Surprisingly enough, Aragorn felt tears threatening to flow once more, and his hand caressed absentmindedly the short strands.

"You have changed so much." He didn't have the luxury to wonder at how raw with emotion his voice sounded.

When Ceranos looked up to the Man, tears had filled his eyes also.

"But you know something?" said then Aragorn, his voice becoming steady once more. "You are still Ceranos Orcbane, the Elf who was raised by Dwarves and became the patriarch of his foster father's clan; the Elf with whom I faced the long darkness of Moria and whose courageous and honourable soul can only be compared to his skill with forging. That can _never_ be changed. Do you understand?"

Ceranos nodded a bit; then his hand reached for Aragorn's and squeezed it gently, whereas his eyes never left the Man's. 

Aragorn was a bit baffled by this, but he soon realised that Ceranos was in this way expressing his gratitude. Smiling, he merely pulled the blanket over his friend's form and watched him slowly drifting into the land of dreams. Then, moving quietly so as not to disturb Ceranos's sleep, he walked out to find Arwen.

\------------------

"I was blind," Aragorn said to the Elven-woman, as they both lay on their bed. "All the signs were there, in front of me; yet I could not see them."

"How could you see them, when you did not know what you were looking for?" asked Arwen. "You believed Ceranos was dead, so you could not possibly imagine it was him."

Aragorn merely sighed and gazed for a moment outside the window.

"It is him and, in many ways, he is not." He looked at his wife. "What do you think they did to him?"

"I do not know. Whatever it was, it was terrible."

"Do you think he was--?" Aragorn didn't finish his sentence, not wishing to utter something so atrocious.

"Of course not, Aragorn. If he was, he would be dead," reasoned Arwen.

The Man allowed himself a small smile of relief. "That is fortunate, I suppose." There was a small pause of silence. "Will he be able to tell us what happened to him?"

"Perhaps," came the thoughtful answer. "But only in due time."

TBC…


	15. A Feast To Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

Minas Tirith was bustling with life before dawn, yet no one was working today. For that day, 23rd of March, was the day Sauron was overthrown and peace reigned once again in the realm of Gondor. Because of this, the King of Gondor had declared that day a holiday, and every citizen could visit the Citadel to see for himself the items that were held at so high esteem in the realm: the Orc-clothing on which the Ringbearer had travelled into Mordor and destroyed the Dark Lord's ring; the weapons of the fallen heroes; the sword of the king; even get a glimpse of the battle by the gates of the Morannon, or read a paragraph or two from the books that told of the king's bloodline.

That was what Merry and Pippin did as well, and they were fortunate that Gandalf was accompanying them, because it would be quite difficult for them to see anything with the crowd that surrounded them. They were delighted to see themselves on the tapestry, fighting alongside Aragorn and their friends, and they felt proud to see their cousin's armour; even the likeness of the statue was uncanny.

Suddenly, Merry stopped. He was looking at the double-headed axe that had by now been returned to its place on the wall.

"This can't be Gimli's! It's too big for him!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed not," said Gandalf, unable to help himself but smile at the Hobbits' puzzled faced.

Pippin raised an eyebrow of curiosity. "You know whose is it, don't you?"

"Let us just say that I had a very… enlightening conversation with Lord Elrond last night," said Gandalf. "You have already met the owner of this weapon, though you do not know his name."

"For once, Gandalf, I wish you spoke plainly!" exclaimed Pippin with a groan.

Merry, however, had clearly understood. "It's that Elf we saw on our arrival, wasn't it? We have seen him, and though he's called Daurir, we don't know his real name."

"Well done, Meriadoc!" said Gandalf. "It seems that you haven't lost your skill in solving riddles."

"Though I have yet to solve the riddle why would an Elf carry an axe," noted Merry thoughtfully.

"That is a story that Aragorn will probably be able to tell you better than I," said Gandalf. "All I can tell you is that he was considered dead till now, hence why his weapon is in here. And, in a way, he still is dead." 

"What do you mean?" asked Merry, utterly lost this time.

"The War killed him, perhaps not in body, but certainly in spirit; just like it killed Frodo. And much like Frodo, I do not think he will ever be fully healed."

Both Merry and Pippin sighed, finally understanding and the connection clearly saddening them. 

Gandalf clasped his hands on their shoulders, smiling at them kindly. "That doesn't mean that they are beyond assistance. Frodo has you two and Samwise, and Ceranos will gain his own friends to support him in time."

That cheered up the Hobbits somewhat. They looked at each other for a moment, then at Gandalf. "We'll try to help, too," they said. 

"I was sure of it," was all that the Wizard said, and they walked on to have a look at the books.

\------------------

Finally, the night of the great feast came and everyone was excited. There was music playing, wine served and – of course – lots of food for the guests. Most importantly, however, the feast was a meeting of old friends who, after parting their way almost two years ago, were now sharing their tidings once again.

"Master Meriadoc," said Éowyn, "it is good to see you again!"

"Likewise, Lady."

"Well met, friend Peregrin," said Faramir, greeting the second Hobbit. He looked at Merry and Pippin; then raised an eyebrow of curiosity. "Is not Samwise Gamgee and the Ringbearer with you?"

"Not this time," answered Merry. "Sam's wife is due and so both Sam and Frodo stayed behind to look after her."

"What about Beregond?" asked then Pippin, his turn to feel puzzled. "Hasn't he come with you, Lord Faramir?"

"Not quite, my friend," said Faramir, shaking his head. "Remember that Beregond has been banished from Minas Tirith."

"Oh! I had forgotten about it," Pippin exclaimed. "It's a shame. I missed him and I wished to see him again."

Faramir smiled. "Beregond wished to see you too. That is why he rode with me up to the gates and camped with the rest of the men outside the city. He's expecting your visit tomorrow morning." He leant closely as though to share a secret. "I do believe he has brought mushrooms with him."

"Mushrooms?" echoed Pippin, his eyes brightening.

"Oi! If there are mushrooms, I'm coming, too!" announced Merry.

"And leave none for me?! I think not!"

Faramir and Éowyn laughed. "Gentlemen," Faramir intervened, "Since I know Beregond is well-acquainted with you, I am certain he has enough rations for both of you."

That certainly brought both Hobbits a huge grin on their faces, and they couldn't wait till they saw the captain.

Meanwhile, Aragorn was circulating in the crowd, his eyes darting in every direction. He saw Arwen speaking with Lothíriel; Legolas and Gimli conversing with Éomer; and Elrond was with Gandalf, sharing their discussion without needing to utter the words. In fact, it seemed everyone was enjoying each other's company and they were having a good time.

It was then that Aragorn noticed that not everyone was in the Great Hall. Three people were missing. Three _Elves_ to be exact: Elladan, Elrohir and Ceranos.

Aragorn frowned. What was delaying them?

\------------------

_He is doing it again_. Elladan couldn't help but feel annoyed at that repeated motion that he kept catching sight of as he, Elrohir and Ceranos walked towards the Great Hall. After the first three times, it was gradually becoming too much.

_There it is again_. Elladan glared at Ceranos, but it was futile. The young Elf was too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice anything.

At the third time, Elladan swatted Ceranos's hand away from the collar.

"Let it be! It is _meant_ to be around your neck!" And with a swift movement, he lifted the collar again and straightened it.

A pitiable expression settled on Ceranos's features as he pointed at his collar and clenched his fist around his neck in a mock-choking fashion.

Raising an eyebrow, Elladan examined the collar. "You are exaggerating. It is not tight."

"It is to an Elf who was raised by Dwarves, brother," reasoned Elrohir calmly. He turned to Ceranos. "Do not fret. Once at the feast, you will be among so many people talking at you that you will forget about the collar soon enough."

Ceranos blinked. _Many?!_ he mouthed, eyes widening.

"Well, of course," said Elrohir. "There will be Aragorn and Arwen, that goes without saying; Legolas and Gimli; Father…"

"The King of Rohan; the Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor; Prince Imrahil - with their wives, too, naturally…." said Elladan.

"Mithrandir; Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandyback…" continued Elrohir.

"Not to mention the dozens of men and women from the court of Minas Tirith…" remembered Elladan.

"And let us not forget the servants, maids and musicians, brother."

"Indeed," Elladan said with a nod. "So, to finally answer your question, Ceranos…"

But the young Elf had remained several feet behind, eyes widened and shaking his head emphatically. _Too many,_ he gestured, almost panicking.

Elladan and Elrohir looked at Ceranos curiously; then at each other.

"Brother, I do believe our friend is nervous."

"I whole-heartedly agree."

"Will you grab his left side or his right?"

"His right."

"Very well, then…"

And before Ceranos was able to do anything, Elladan and Elrohir had grabbed one arm each and practically dragged him into the Great Hall in spite of his protests. The only thing he _could_ do was try to make himself as small as possible when the doors opened. He discreetly tried to hide behind Elrohir, wishing to escape from all the stares that seemed to be directed at him, but it was of no use. Elrohir made sure that Ceranos was always at his side.

Just then, Aragorn came and greeted all three Elves, smiling broadly. Leaving Ceranos for last, he embraced the young Elf and whispered close to his ear: "I am glad you came."

He was certainly oblivious to Ceranos's thoughts of: _I wish I hadn't._

But, Ceranos was still an Elf who held true to his word, so he didn't intend to show his reluctance – openly anyway. Following Aragorn, he was introduced to all the guests, who seemed to be very pleased to make his acquaintance – and even start a conversation with him! Ceranos was flustered for a while, not expecting to be accepted with such ease; but soon he had opened up and, though still a bit restricted in his conversation because of his inability to speak, he could admit that he was enjoying himself.

That is, until he noticed that a group of women was looking at him.

He looked at them from the corner of his eye, registering how they kept giggling in a rather irritating – to his ears – way. They were laughing at him, weren't they? He looked at his robes, somehow wishing to believe that his clothing was to be blamed for his predicament.

It was a pat on his shoulder that made him look up again. He was certainly surprised to see that it was Thranduil's son – and that he was smiling knowingly.

"You will get used to it," Legolas said, leaning confidentially close to him. "Women of the Men's race _always_ do that in the presence of a male Elf."

Ceranos's eyes widened and he stared at Legolas incredulously. Was Legolas trying to tell him that such behaviour from the women was because they thought he was attractive?

Legolas nodded, his smile becoming a grin. "Did you not notice how their giggling increased significantly when I came near you? Two Elves to admire are better than one."

That certainly made Ceranos suddenly feel quite self-conscious. He blushed, a reaction that made Legolas laugh heartily.

"Come. I will take you somewhere where you will be more at ease." And with no other word, they both went to find Gimli.

The Dwarf was certainly more than glad to see Ceranos, that was for certain, because he grinned broadly.

"I will let you two be for the present, I wish to speak to Prince Imrahil," said Legolas; and walked away.

Both Ceranos and Gimli watched Legolas go; then faced each other.

_Nice to see you again, Orcbane,_ Gimli signalled, using Iglishmêk and the title that Ceranos was given long ago among the Dwarves.

_Well met, Gimli, Glóin's son,_ answered Ceranos, smiling.

And the two started conversing about mining and forging. So engrossed were they in their conversation, that Ceranos was caught by surprise when Aragorn went up to him and asked him to come with him. The next thing Ceranos knew, he was at Aragorn and Arwen's side in a small platform, and the man was asking everyone to listen to a few words he meant to say.

"Friends and kin," Aragorn started, "We have gathered here today to celebrate for a great victory and the freedom we earned against Sauron. When it all seemed the darkest, every one of you gave your own fight, showing to the Enemy in this way that courage, goodness and hope always endures. For this, I give you all many thanks."

Everyone raised his cup in salute, thus accepting Aragorn's thanks. However, the King of Gondor hadn't quite finished.

"Still, I wish also to say that this is not just a celebration. It is also a gathering so we can remember those who gave their own life so we could have peace. Though it is a sorrow that they're not here today, it is the sweetest of sorrows. Their strength and bravery will be always kept in our minds and our hearts, so that we can look up to them and our children can regard them as they should: as heroes."

All nodded their approval at this. It was then that Aragorn smiled.

"Today is also a blessed day for me, because I found a friend that I thought I lost forever. He's standing next to me and you all have come to know him as Ceranos Orcbane.

"Some of you are probably thinking that you have never heard of that name before, or indeed this is a strange name for one of the Firstborn. Well, it would certainly have been had he not but for a twist for fate been raised by Dwarves and meant to live in the mountain halls for the most part of his immortal life.

"In spite of it, we still met, under the most dangerous of circumstances, I might add," Aragorn continued, smiling at the memory. "In four days we had managed to face the darkness of the world underground; the wrath of Trolls and hate of Orcs; fire and injuries; and yet pulled through. And it was more than enough for me to consider him a friend, even after we had parted our ways with a word of farewell and a promise that we should meet again.

"Yet, when finally came the time that I could keep my promise, I was told that my friend was no more. That he was slain fighting against the same evil we all had to face. And that's what I still believed until yesterday. When an Elf, coming out of the depths of Rhûn after suffering enslavement for two years, turned out the very friend I mourned. I want you all to welcome him as what he is already in my heart: A friend and a hero."

Everyone clapped, something that made Ceranos feel his face becoming crimson. He didn't see himself as a hero, he couldn't; not after what happened in Rhûn. So he got ready to step away, but two children stopped him.

No. Taking a closer look, he realised that those were no children. They were Merry and Pippin, the Halflings he met a short while ago – and they were now grabbing him by his legs!

"Awfully sorry, but it seems you have gone the wrong way," said Merry, grinning.

"That's right," seconded Pippin. "What sort of a reunion is that if you are to take the complete opposite direction?"

Ceranos stared at them incredulously for many long moments; then shook his head, smiling. He was bested. Turning around, he walked up to Aragorn, who was smiling broadly, clearly thanking the Hobbits for their interference; and embraced him.

"Welcome back," whispered Aragorn, returning the embrace just as warmly while everyone clapped once again and Arwen smiled. However, Ceranos had also come up with a little scheme and he got ready to fulfil it the moment he pulled himself free from the embrace. He smiled mischievously at Aragorn… and grabbed both Merry and Pippin and hugged them also – tightly.

"Merry, my poor back!" exclaimed Pippin.

"I think I heard a crack at my _own_ back, Pip!"

Such a reaction and the sight of the Hobbits' limbs flailing in the air proved too much. Laughter echoed throughout the hall and even the Hobbits were laughing. Yet the clearest laughter of all was Aragorn's, because it was of utter joy.

His friend's spirit was returning.

TBC...


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set two years after the War of the Ring. Arwen returns to Minas Tirith after a visit at Emyn Arnen. On her way and after a misfortune that deprives her of horse and her military escort, she finds herself in the company of someone whom she can't tell if he's a friend or foe. Drama/ Angst/ Action. I stress the term AU. Warning: For some of the story elements to make sense, you will have to read the other multi-chaptered stories I've written so far (except Thicker Than Blood), because it follows the thread of those stories. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I don't want readers forced to make questions of the type "Why are Beregond and Faramir friends?" or "What happened to Eomer?"

The feast ended in joy and much merrymaking. Yet, like all good things, this had to end also. And so, after renewing their bonds of friendship, everyone got ready to leave for their own homelands. Faramir and Éowyn left two days after the festivities had ended, whereas Éomer and Lothíriel departed the day after, and so on and so forth. Soon enough, the only ones that had remained as guests in the Citadel of Minas Tirith were Gandalf, Elrond and the twins, and Legolas with Gimli.

Now all that remained to be seen was what Ceranos would decide: Whether to stay in Minas Tirith temporarily… or permanently.

Aragorn was sitting in his private room, the one he always used when he wished to be alone, thinking back to the conversation he had with Ceranos the very next day after the banquet. He had told Ceranos that, as he prepared to offer a place to live to an Elf he thought he didn't know, now he was once again offering to him, as a friend, a roof over his head.

All that Ceranos signalled was that he needed to weigh matters first; to think. So, Aragorn intended to give him as much time as he saw fit, something that the Elf welcomed gladly. 

Still, it had been almost three weeks since that conversation and Ceranos hadn't reached a decision yet. What concerned Aragorn, however, was that almost no one else had seen Ceranos during that time. Apparently, the Elf had stayed in his room, thinking matters thoroughly. 

It was then that he heard a weak knock on the door of his room. That was surprising to Aragorn, as he wasn't expecting anyone. 

"Come."

The door opened, and the first thing that Aragorn noticed was a pair of jade-coloured eyes, and then the familiar form of Ceranos. The first thing that the Man thought was how well the Elf was recovering. He was still quite thin, of course, and probably Ceranos would never be able to rid the haunted look that seemed to darken the Elf's features; but he was recovering, none the less. That gave Aragorn great comfort.

"Welcome, my friend," Aragorn said at once with a broad smile. "What brings you here? Have you decided?"

Ceranos nodded slightly, and gave the man a piece of parchment to read. Feeling curious, Aragorn unrolled it.

_I am tired of wandering. I am willing to stay here, though I ask of you a favour. Though I was looked upon as a lord and a patriarch among the Dwarves, let me be a mere blacksmith here. Allow me to consider the forgery my kingdom, for that is the best haven I could possibly ask for in these halls._

Aragorn looked at Ceranos, gladdened at the decision the Elf had made, and clasped his hand on his shoulder.

"You shall have your wish. But know this, Ceranos: to me and my friends, you're equal, and that's how we will always treat you."

The young Elf's lips tugged into a smile; a true, brilliant smile. 

_Thank you._ And he bowed slightly his head before embracing his friend in gratitude.

THE END.


End file.
